


Of All The People In The World

by ShitabuKenjirou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, how to tag this, i'm gonna drag y'all into yahashira hell with me, it's slow burn but not that slow, oikawa is a good captain, prepare for drama and pining, the tale of two salt shakers getting together, toothrotting fluff and boys being boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-11-14 12:51:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 76,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11208468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitabuKenjirou/pseuds/ShitabuKenjirou
Summary: “Don’t worry about me, though. I was already leaving anyway.” Shirabu turned around, pulling his sleeves over his hands and burying his hands in his pockets.“See you in the Spring tournament,” Shirabu said over his shoulder, sounding like he wasn’t looking forward to it at all, and started walking away.~~~In which boys are being boys, strange shenanigans happen, feelings are being felt, and two salty setters may or may not have a thing for each other.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Yahaba saw him play was during the Inter-High preliminaries.

He wondered why he hadn’t noticed the player before. He was pretty sure his team had played Shiratorizawa last year as well. Maybe he was a second year student like him, lucky enough to be the starting position instead of his third year rival. Lucky enough, unlike him, not to be doomed to warm the bench for another year. 

Yahaba didn’t know what it was that made watching him play so interesting. But once his eyes fell onto the caramel-haired setter, he somehow couldn’t look away. 

It was like, somehow, he tried to blend in with the background as much as possible. And yet his sets were fundamental for Shiratorizawa’s attacks. There were no flashy plays, no unusual sets. And his calm, concentrated eyes were always on the ace of the team. 

Yahaba only saw a few glimpses of the game Shiratorizawa was playing at that moment, during the sports news of that day, since Aoba Johsai was fighting for the top in a different block. But the setter stood out to him, somehow. And the next day, they would be challenging Shiratorizawa, the current champions, battling for the honour of representing Miyagi in the nationals. 

Yahaba didn’t get why, but a part of him was _excited_ to see the mysterious setter play right in front of him tomorrow. Once he realized that, he shook his head and blamed it on the nerves. Even though he probably wouldn’t play much, if at all, during tomorrow’s game, it was Aoba Johsai’s chance to go to nationals. He knew how important that was for the team, especially for the third years. He knew the team, _his_ team, was strong enough to win.

He convinced himself that he was excited to see Aoba Johsai on the top, instead of Shiratorizawa, not excited to see someone play who he’d never even seen in real life before. But once he went to bed, he couldn’t get the setter of the rival team out of his mind.

~~~

“Yahaba, are you coming?”

Yahaba snapped out of his train of thought, and realized the bus had already arrived at their destination. When he looked around, he noticed the bus was empty, except for him and Kindaichi, who was waiting for him to move.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, coming,” he responded quickly, and hurried to grab his sports bag. 

Once they exited the bus, Kindaichi asked, “are you ready for today? You seem distracted.”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Yahaba said, not quite answering the second part of Kindaichi’s question. Because, yeah, he _was_ distacted. But no way that he was going to tell his friend _why_ that was the case. Yahaba didn’t even fully understand why, except that it might involve a certain setter, even though said setter was still completely unknown to him. _So why do my thoughts keep drifting back to him?_

“Not that it really matters much,” Yahaba added, his tone turning slightly bitter, “since I’m probably going to be warming the bench anyway. I might as well be a cheerleader.”

Kindaichi snorted, grinning. “You make a good cheerleader though.”

“Wha-” Yahaba pulled a shocked face, which only made Kindaichi laugh. “Well, thanks a lot, Mr. _first-year-lucky-enough-to-be-in-the-starting-lineup_.”

Kindaichi chuckled a bit before his smile turned sour. “Sorry. You’re right, I’m way too lucky.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Yahaba said, patting Kindaichi’s shoulder. “You’re not on the court without reason. You’re tall, and you’re _good_. I’m just unlucky because we have a star setter like Oikawa-san on our team, and that’s not even really unlucky. Our team is incredibly strong because of him.”

“But you don’t get to play,” Kindaichi countered. 

“My time will come,” Yahaba said. He tried very hard not to think about the fact that he’ll probably be starting setter next year. As exciting as it might be, it also added a lot of pressure. But more than that, he feared that a first-year setter would come along to replace him. Then he would have no opportunity to play in matches at all. 

_Like hell that I would let that happen._

“Well, maybe you’re lucky today,” Kindaichi said, as they were joining the rest of the team. “We’re playing a five-set match today, maybe they’ll switch you in once people get exhausted.”

“Let’s hope we’ll actually play five sets,” Kunimi chimed in, “instead of getting defeated without taking a single one of them.”

“We could also win this thing straight through,” Kindaichi countered. “Don’t be negative, Kunimi!”

“Just saying,” Kunimi muttered, turning away to grab something from his bag. 

“All right!” Oikawa’s voice rang through the group. “Let’s go warm up, everyone!”

A chorus of “yes!” sounded, and the group moved to the gym. Their entrance was met with an enormous applause from the audience, and Yahaba felt the nerves coming back up. They were really going to play Shiratorizawa. Maybe, after this match, they were going to be headed to _nationals_. 

One glance around the enormous space told Yahaba that Shiratorizawa hadn’t arrived yet. To his surprise, he felt his stomach drop a little. Was he actually _disappointed_? And why, because he couldn’t see the setter that he happened to catch on tv yesterday and was somehow more interested in than any sane person would be?

_Disgusting_ , he thought to himself as he was changing into his volleyball jersey.

Later, when Yahaba was nearly done with his stretches, a thunderous applause arose, and all of Seijoh looked up to see Shiratorizawa enter the gym. The way they walked, a strong gait, heads held high, definitely showed that they were the kings of this court. 

“Today,” Oikawa began, clenching his fists and standing tall. “Today, we will rule this court.”

“Yeah!” the team yelled, but Yahaba didn’t join in. His eyes were on Shiratorizawa’s setter. Unlike the rest of the team, that was radiating confidence and determination, the boy seemed to barely care at all. Was that arrogance? Or something else?

“Sizing up the rival team?” a voice beside him asked. Yahaba jumped, and turned around to see Iwaizumi standing behind him. 

“Um-”

“Come on, the official warming-ups are starting soon,” Iwaizumi said, pushing Yahaba gently towards where the rest of the team was going. 

Yahaba shot one last glance at the strange setter of the opposite team, then followed his team to the court for the warming-up.

~~~

It turned out, Kunimi’s prediction of the game was a bit more accurate than what they’d all hoped.

They were in the middle of the third set. Shiratorizawa had claimed the previous two with enough points to spare. Aoba Johsai’s composure was held together by mere strings now, and Yahaba was doing everything he could from the sideline to keep them from falling apart. 

Like the cheerleader Kindaichi thought he was, he kept shouting encouragements, kept telling them not to regret any mistakes they might have made, kept ordering them to keep fighting. 

And in the meantime, he kept watching Shiratorizawa’s setter, whose name he now knew. _Shirabu_. When he’d heard the name at first, he found himself thinking that the name suited the setter. Then he found himself wanting to kick himself for how ridiculous he was being, thinking about the setter of their rival team like that. 

Shirabu was completely different from other setters Yahaba had witnessed. No risky plays, no crazy stunts, just simple, high sets to the wing spikers. He’d used a setter dump only once during the entire game. It was like he was a ghost, only jumping out of the walls he hid in to prepare the team for attacks, then fading back in as if nothing happened. And he did it all with a straight face, only showing frustration or joy the world once in a while.

He was a mystery, really.

The ball slammed to the ground on Aoba Johsai’s side of the court once again, leading to Shiratorizawa’s match point. Yahaba yelled encouragements again, but they didn’t seem to reach the players on the court anymore. 

The next rally seemed endless. Countless times Shiratorizawa attacked, and countless times Aoba Johsai followed, keeping the ball in play, but nothing more than that. Yahaba noticed that nearly everyone on the bench, including himself, was holding their breath. And then, just when Aoba Johsai thought they’d found an opening, they were brutally shut down. 

The referee blew his whistle, signifying that the match was finished. Yahaba watched Aoba Johsai shatter, watched their fighting spirit slowly drip away. With their heads held high, they greeted the other team again, shook their hands. Nearly all of them burst into tears when they gathered around their coach, listening to his final words before they were sent to get their things. 

Just before the losing team exited the gym, Yahaba shot one last glance at Shiratorizawa’s players, and locked eyes with Shirabu. He didn’t know what it was, but something about his emotionless face angered Yahaba to no end. It was like the boy didn’t even want to be there. And they _won_ , for god’s sake! Didn’t he care at all?

Shirabu looked away before Yahaba had a chance to continue his thoughts, and a few seconds later Aoba Johsai made their way outside for their cooling down. 

“We’re leaving in half an hour,” Oikawa announced, head held high, staying strong for his team like a true captain. “Don’t forget to do your stretches.”

After a set of half hearted agreements the team split up to cool down. Yahaba joined Kindaichi in running a few laps around the sport complex grounds, his mind constantly wandering back to the match they just played. It was unfair, really, how they had given their all, and how they’d been beaten mercilessly despite that. It was a punch to the gut, even if he had only stepped on the court a few times as a pinch server. 

Even though Yahaba might be a bit biased, he found Aoba Johsai to be one of the strongest teams out there. And yet, they were denied a spot at the nationals just because one team happened to be slightly stronger.

It was infuriating. 

If Kindaichi noticed how upset Yahaba was, he didn’t show it. Nor did he try to talk to him about it, which was something Yahaba appreciated. They ran through their stretches in comfortable silence, and were making their way back to the bus just as Shiratorizawa exited the sports complex. 

Yahaba watched the members of the team chatting excitedly, hanging on to their friends’ shoulders, celebrating their victory. And then there was Shirabu, who stuck out like a sore thumb, walking silently, looking like he, for some reason, had better things to do. 

That sight made something in Yahaba snap. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he was walking up to Shiratorizawa. Kindaichi called out to him, asking him where he was going, but Yahaba ignored him. 

“You,” Yahaba sneered, making Shirabu jump and look up. His expression didn’t change at the sight of him, which only made Yahaba angrier. His hands reached out on their own, grabbing Shirabu’s shirt and jacket, shaking him back and forth. 

“You and your team just fucking crushed a team to the ground, like it was nothing, and earned yourself a spot in the nationals,” Yahaba snarled. “But you look like you’d rather be anywhere but here. Does this mean nothing to you?”

“Hey, let go of him!” someone Yahaba didn’t know ordered. But he just kept glaring at Shirabu, who was now looking back at him with a shocked expression. 

“Don’t you know what a privilege it it to go to nationals?” Yahaba continued, his voice rising. “And your team just managed to go again. This proves you’re the best of all of Miyagi. _So why aren’t you more excited?!_ ”

“Yahaba, calm down!” Strong hands pried Yahaba’s hands from Shirabu’s clothing and pushed him back. Shirabu’s expression slowly changed from shock to rage. 

“I apologize on his behalf,” Iwaizumi said, bowing lightly, and Yahaba realized he was the one who separated him from Shirabu. “He’s just.. upset.”

Shirabu barely acknowledged Iwaizumi before shooting Yahaba a murderous glare. “What the fuck do you know? You think you can just say things like that? You don’t know me, you don’t know anything.”

“Shirabu.” One of Shiratorizawa’s players -- the powerful pinch server, Yahaba recalled -- put a hand on Shirabu’s shoulder, trying to get him to turn away. “Come on.”

Shirabu looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it, and turned his back to Yahaba, making his way to Shiratorizawa’s bus. The rest of Shiratorizawa followed, after a few of them shot Yahaba a dirty glare. 

“Yahaba,” Iwaizumi said, grabbing his wrist. “Let’s go. Now.”

If Yahaba wanted to protest, he didn’t have the opportunity to do so before Iwaizumi dragged him away. When he passed Kindaichi, the latter only gave him a look that said _are you out of your mind?_

When Yahaba entered the bus, his teammates were giving him weird looks. He didn’t feel like staring any of them down or starting a fight again, so he just lowered his gaze and chose an empty seat in the back. No one came to sit beside him. 

The bus ride back home was quiet, since most of the team was either sulking or sleeping. Yahaba didn’t bother to rest, and instead just replayed the scene he made in his head over and over. His mind, however, was too tired to make sense of it. Had he overreacted? Probably. But he still felt angry, for a reason he didn’t quite understand. 

Before Yahaba knew it, the bus had arrived at Aoba Johsai high school. He was one of the last people to step off the bus, and the moment he set food on the ground again, someone grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. 

“Yahaba,” Oikawa said sternly, letting go of Yahaba’s arm and crossing his own arms instead. He made sure to lock eyes with Yahaba before he continued. “No more picking fights with rival teams. Understood?”

Yahaba took a deep breath before he lowered his eyes. “Understood, captain.”

Oikawa’s stern look softened. “Good. We don’t want you to get in trouble, you know.” Then Oikawa laughed, patting Yahaba on the shoulder. “Though I completely understand your feelings, I’d kick Ushiwaka’s ass any day.”

“If you do that, I’ll kick your ass,” a voice grumbled from behind them, and both boys turned around to see Iwaizumi standing there, glaring at Oikawa.

“Come on,” Iwaizumi said, pushing Oikawa towards the gym building. “We have a meeting in a few minutes. You too, Yahaba.”

“Coming,” Yahaba said, following the two third years. As he walked, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes on the ground, he vowed to himself to never think about Shiratorizawa’s stupid setter ever again.

It turned out, that was a lot harder than he ever thought it would be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos and comments, I really appreciate it and they motivate me to keep this story going <3 I hope you will enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it!

It had been a week since their match against Shiratorizawa. Everyone in Aoba Johsai had pushed through their grief and found the motivation to get better, to work harder so they could beat Shiratorizawa during the Spring tournament. Usually Mondays were their day off, but today nearly all of Yahaba’s teammates -- and he himself as well -- showed up for training anyway, yearning to continue their path to improvement. 

But no matter how hard he tried, Yahaba’s mind wasn’t into it. 

While Oikawa was taking time to practice his serves, the other players asked Yahaba to set for them, so they could improve their spikes. While it was a good way to practice, and a good way to get to know the qualities and habits of the hitters on his team, Yahaba felt like he wasn’t making progress at all. If anything, he might even be getting worse. He was often out of sync with the other players, even though he was doing just fine before. 

When another set went wrong, he requested a break, and it seemed to him that the others were more than happy to agree. Yahaba tried to not let that sting too much as he grabbed his water bottle to get a drink. 

“Are you doing okay?” Kindaichi asked, joining him. He wiped his face and neck with a towel before drinking out of his own bottle. “Your sets seem a bit off today.”

Yahaba grimaced. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Kindaichi scanned Yahaba’s frustrated expression carefully before continuing. “I wasn’t criticising you. I’m just worried. You’ve been acting weird ever since that match last week.”

“I’m not acting weird,” Yahaba said, setting down his water bottle on the bench a little too loudly. “And I’m fine.”

He was only half lying. He was fine, physically. Mentally too, probably. He just kept thinking about a certain setter he’d vowed not to think about ever again. _Goddamnit, stop thinking about him._

“If you say so,” Kindaichi muttered. The two stood in silence before a while before Kindaichi put down his bottle and his towel. 

“Well, I’m going to do some blocking practice now. See you around,” he announced, running off. 

Yahaba just watched him when he walked up to a few others and got some things ready for his practice. Kindaichi might not know it, but he was good at reading people. The way he noticed certain things consistently always caught Yahaba off guard. It was almost like Oikawa, the way he observed people and acted accordingly.

As if thinking about his upperclassman had the ability to summon him, Yahaba spotted Oikawa walking towards him, a friendly smile on his lips. 

“Hey, Yahaba, can we talk about something?”  
Yahaba’s thoughts flashed back towards the incident with Shirabu last week, and that must have shown on his face, because Oikawa’s smile faltered. 

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” Oikawa quickly reassured Yahaba, and the latter let out a relieved sigh. 

“What is it?” Yahaba asked, now curious. 

“Ah, well,” Oikawa laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with one of his hands. “Firstly, I just wanted to check if you were okay, because your setting doesn’t seem to go so well.”

_As observant as always_. “Yeah, I’m fine, no worries,” Yahaba said, waving his hand dismissively. “What’s the other thing?” he asked, subtly changing the subject and hoping Oikawa wouldn’t notice. 

Oikawa gave him a knowing look, but then seemed to decide to drop the issue. He crossed his arms and his gaze slid to his teammates, who were practicing, laughing together, having fun. His lips spread into a fond smile. 

“I’ve been thinking about who I want to choose as the next captain,” Oikawa began. When his eyes settled on Yahaba, Yahaba’s stomach dropped. 

“And I think you are the person who’s suited the best for the job.”

“E-eh? Why me?” Yahaba exclaimed, the shock apparent in his voice. _Me, a captain?_

“Well, since liberos can’t be captains, Watari is not an option. From the rest of the second-years, you have stood on the court most often, and you have a healthy sense of pride and responsibility.”

Oikawa smiled, and put a hand on Yahaba’s shoulder. “You don’t have to say yes, and you still have time to think it over. But I think you’d be an excellent captain.”

The sincerity of Oikawa’s words caught Yahaba off guard. _Did he really think that?_

Oikawa cleared his throat and pulled his hand back. “Anyway, I should go back to training, and you should too. Do you need any help?”

Yahaba shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

Oikawa smiled. “Good. If you have any questions about the captain thing, let me know, all right?”

Yahaba nodded, and Oikawa took that as his cue to go. Yahaba followed Oikawa with his eyes as he checked up on his other teammates, patting them on their backs, giving them advice or compliments. No matter what others had to say about his personality, Oikawa was a natural leader, and his captain role seemed to fit him like a glove. 

And that was the legacy Yahaba was likely to inherit.

_No pressure._

Taking one last drink from his water bottle, Yahaba picked an empty spot somewhere to practice his serves, not feeling like messing up set after set again. He tried to lose himself into the rhythm of serving over and over and over, but he could never quite drive the thoughts that bothered him out of his mind.

~~~

“Yahaba!” Watari called out, just as Yahaba was leaving the clubroom. Yahaba had the urge to ignore him and go home, craving the promise of peace and quiet, but instead turned around and looked at Watari with raised eyebrows.

“Hm?”

“You wanna join us for ramen?” Watari asked, his eyes sparkling, and gestured to Kindaichi, Kunimi and himself to make clear who _us_ referred to. 

Yahaba forced a smile on his face and shook his head. “I’m tired. Maybe some other day.”

“Ah,” Watari nodded, understanding. “Sure thing. See you tomorrow.”

Yahaba waved, then exited the clubroom. His smile dropped into a grimace as soon as he closed the door, and he sighed deeply as he made his way to the school gates.

Training had definitely worn him out, and he couldn’t wait to go to bed and sleep for a few days. But the thought of going home already didn’t really appeal to him. 

So where he usually turned left to walk home, he turned right instead. 

He didn’t often venture into this part of town, but Yahaba felt like he needed the change of scenery or he’d overthink himself into an early grave. Thousands of thoughts were causing turmoil in his head, and they’d drive him insane if he didn’t force them out _right now_.

Hands buried in his pockets, he trudged down unknown streets, watching houses and streets and cars and people, trying to focus on anything but the fact that he was likely to become captain next year. 

Yahaba was sure he was honoured that his captain chose him to be his successor, but he couldn’t find the feeling in between his insecurities. While he was reliable and able to direct the team towards their goal, he wasn’t Oikawa. He was convinced he couldn’t lead Aoba Johsai, with its incredibly strong and ambitious players, to the top. Not like Oikawa could.

Realizing that he’d let himself get lost in his thoughts, he looked up and shook his head as if to clear it, annoyed at himself that he managed to do the opposite of what he had wanted. He found himself at an empty playground, save for one person sitting on one of the swings, his head hanging between his shoulders, his caramel coloured hair--

_Wait a minute._

“What are _you_ doing here?” Yahaba exclaimed, and Shirabu looked up, shocked. He stood up from the swings in one fluid move, as if to run away, but he seemed to decide against it and put his hands on his hips instead. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he responded, voice low, his eyebrows dropping into an annoyed frown.

Not being able to find a witty reply due to the fog in his brain, Yahaba went with honesty. “Running away from my problems.”

“Huh,” Shirabu huffed, crossing his arms. “You should be running in the opposite direction, then, since I’m apparently one of them.” 

For one second Yahaba feared Shirabu somehow knew how much he’d been thinking about him, but then he remembered the incident from last week. He struggled to find an answer, but before he could do so, Shirabu laughed bitterly. 

“Don’t worry about me, though. I was already leaving anyway.” Shirabu turned around, pulling his sleeves over his hands and burying his hands in his pockets. 

“See you in the Spring tournament,” Shirabu said over his shoulder, sounding like he wasn’t looking forward to it at all, and started walking away. 

The words Shirabu had said at their last encounter resounded through Yahaba’s mind. _You don’t know me, you don’t know anything._

_But I want to get to know you._

“Wait!” Yahaba called out, finally able to find his voice again, and Shirabu halted. He didn’t turn around. He just waited.

“Before you go,” Yahaba began, not taking his eyes off Shirabu’s rigid form, “I want to apologize for last week. I overstepped my bounds--”

“Yes, you did,” Shirabu interrupted him, turning around to glare at him. Yet again, Yahaba couldn’t find the words he was looking for.

“I understand why you were angry,” Shirabu continued, averting his eyes but not letting his hostile expression falter. “I would’ve felt the same in your situation. But what I don’t get is why you took it out on me. What did I ever do to you?”

Shirabu looked at Yahaba again, seeming to demand an answer. When Yahaba didn’t respond, frantically trying to get his mind in order, Shirabu cursed under his breath. 

“What, you had so many things to say about me last week, but you’re silent now?”

Silence spread between them as Shirabu waited, as Yahaba struggled to find a fitting response. It was indeed strange that he had nothing to say right now. Had his anger faded? Or was it exhaustion that had worn him out? Yahaba noticed that Shirabu started to fidget, picking on the sports tape that was still around his fingers. 

“Look, I don’t have time for this--”

“I think I was jealous,” Yahaba admitted, interrupting Shirabu, who was now looking at him, dumbstruck.

It took a few seconds for Shirabu to recompose himself, and during that time Yahaba prayed that he hadn’t said the wrong thing. 

“Jealous?” Shirabu forced out, his expression a mix of confusion and something else Yahaba couldn’t identify. “Of me?”

When Yahaba nodded, Shirabu narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“No idea, honestly,” Yahaba muttered, keeping his eyes on the ground, suddenly feeling like a deflated balloon. Then he spotted the swing set, and, not really thinking about what he was doing, he made his way towards the swing beside the one Shirabu had been sitting on before and lowered himself onto it. He couldn’t resist burying his head in his hands, and he felt Shirabu’s eyes on him when he did so. 

_What did I get myself into?_

After a while, Yahaba heard footsteps approaching him, and when he raised his head he saw Shirabu sitting down on the swing next to him. 

“Is.. is something bothering you?” Shirabu asked, his voice having lost its edge from before. Yahaba might have imagined it, but he was pretty sure Shirabu looked at him with concern in his eyes. 

“It’s not like you’d care,” Yahaba responded bitterly. Shirabu snorted beside him. 

“Good point.”

Despite his comment, Yahaba felt the need to answer truthfully anyway. _Might as well spill it now._

“Oikawa-san told me he wanted me to be captain next year,” Yahaba said. “But I’m pretty sure I’m not cut out for the job.”

Yahaba waited for a reaction, and after a few seconds he heard Shirabu chuckle softly beside him. There was no single trace of humour in it.

“What’s so funny?” Yahaba asked, raising his eyes at Shirabu, who was looking at his feet with a strange expression on his face. 

“My captain told me the same thing today,” Shirabu said. Another bitter chuckle escaped him as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But there’s no way I’m gonna be as good a captain as he is.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Yahaba countered. “I think you’ll be a great captain.”

“How would you know?” Shirabu asked, narrowing his eyes and shooting Yahaba a questioning glance. “You don’t know me.”

_You don't know me, you don't know anything._

Yahaba had no response for that, so he just shrugged and averted his gaze. He watched over the empty playground, the wind and the sound of cars driving around the only thing between him and Shirabu.

After a while, Yahaba heard Shirabu sigh deeply beside him. “It’s just... It’s not nothing, you know, following into _the_ Ushijima Wakatoshi’s footsteps. How could I ever compete with that?” 

Shirabu started playing with the tape on his fingers, eyes not quite focused. Yahaba couldn’t help but watch the boy beside him. “I don’t understand what they see in me,” Shirabu admitted. “I’m just a setter.”

It was almost funny, really, how the setter he’d been thinking about all week seemed to have exactly the same struggles as Yahaba did. And yet..

“I was jealous of you,” Yahaba began, his eyes on his folded hands, sitting in his lap, “because you seem to have everything I don’t. You’re a second-year, yet you gained a starter position as a setter. You play for a team that has a massive chance of going to nationals. Your skills and game sense seem pretty amazing too.”

Yahaba paused for a bit, organizing the thoughts in his head. Shirabu didn’t move beside him. 

“When I saw you after the game last week, you didn’t seem to care at all, that you won, even though you had every reason to be happy. I guess that made me angry because you were able to be on the court in ways that I couldn’t. I would take every chance I could get just to play a full match with my team as a setter, no matter the results.”

Yahaba was searching for the right words in his mind, feeling like hadn’t wrapped up his speech well enough, when Shirabu huffed. 

“That’s still not a valid reason to attack me, though,” he said, his voice sounding monotonous. 

“I wasn’t attacking you,” Yahaba defended himself, the comment making Shirabu snort.

“Then what do you call grabbing someone by their jacket and yelling at them?”

“You got me there,” Yahaba sighed, not feeling like taking the discussion any further.

After a few seconds of silence, Shirabu got up from the swing, taking a deep breath and putting his hands in the pocket of the hoodie he was wearing.

“While that does explain the reason behind your.. actions,” Shirabu began, “I don’t really see why you wouldn’t be a good captain. If anything, you seem likely to be a better captain than I will be.”

“Why do you think that?” Yahaba asked, standing up as well.

“Don’t you think I didn’t notice the way you cheered for your team even though you weren’t playing,” Shirabu said, almost sounding like he was scolding Yahaba. If it wasn't Shirabu he was talking to, Yahaba would've laughed.

“Even though your team was very likely to lose," Shirabu continued, "you didn’t let that get to you. That kind of fighting spirit is admirable. You kept your head cool, too, despite everything. Those are good qualities, fit for being a captain.”

Shirabu said it all so casually, as if he was pointing out a simple fact, but it made Yahaba blush nonetheless.

“Are you saying you don’t have those qualities?” Yahaba forced out, trying to work around the fact that a setter he, quite honestly, looked up to, had complimented him without a second thought.

“I am,” Shirabu said, shrugging. “That’s just how it is.”

Yahaba started to protest, but Shirabu cut him off.

“While it was interesting talking to you, I really should go now,” he said, whipping out his phone and checking the time. “My parents will probably yell at me if I get home any later than this.”

“Where do you live?” Yahaba asked before he could stop himself. He felt like kicking himself for being so blunt, but Shirabu didn’t seem to mind the question.

“Just a few blocks away,” he answered dully, pocketing his phone again. “Well, see you around… What was your name again?”

“Yahaba,” Yahaba said. “Yahaba Shigeru.”

“Yahaba,” Shirabu repeated, as if trying out the name. Then Shirabu smiled, just slightly, and Yahaba could’ve sworn his heart stopped beating for a second.

“My name is Shirabu. Shirabu Kenjirou. In case you wanted to know.”

“I know,” Yahaba blurted out. Then, realizing what he’d said, he clapped a hand over his mouth, blushing and cursing himself internally.

“You know?” Shirabu echoed, frowning. “Have you been stalking me?”

“No, no!” Yahaba insisted, frantically waving with his hands. “I just happened to catch it during the match last week!” _Stupid, stupid, stupid--_

“That’s sounds like something a stalker would say,” Shirabu remarked, and Yahaba spluttered, trying and failing to find any fitting comebacks.

“I should get going now,” Shirabu said, turning in the direction Yahaba suspected his home was. “See you around, Yahaba.”

“See you around,” Yahaba said, lifting his hand to wave. Shirabu, however, didn’t catch the motion, so Yahaba just awkwardly dropped it to his side again. He watched Shirabu walk away -- his head lowered, his hands in his pockets -- until he was out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it!
> 
> Comments/feedback is again very much appreciated :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am with another update!  
> Thank you guys so much for the kudos and sweet comments, they mean the world to me <3  
> This chapter feels a bit iffy to me but I hope you guys like it nonetheless!

It took Yahaba 40 minutes to get back home, because he hadn’t been paying attention to where he was walking before and was too stubborn to google directions to his own house. After a long game of trial and error and walking in circles, he finally stumbled inside, announcing that he was home and kicking off his shoes at the door.

It turned out that he’d been talking to Shirabu for so long that he’d missed dinner, and while his parents weren’t mad at him for staying away that long, he hated eating leftovers. They somehow seemed to lack the taste the food had before, and spicing things up only did so much. Yahaba promised to be on time the next day.

As Yahaba waited for his food to heat up, he ran through his conversation with Shirabu in his mind. Even though Shirabu was still pretty much a mystery to him, he’d gotten to know more about him, which is what he’d aimed for. Something in him was proud of himself for making Shirabu stay and talk to him, no matter how awkward their conversation was at times.

Yahaba knew his first name (which he was quite pleased about, for some reason unknown to him). Yahaba knew he’d be captain someday, just like him, and struggled with following in his current captain’s footsteps, just like him. And Yahaba knew Shirabu looked cute when he smiled.

_Wait, what?_

The microwave dinged loudly beside Yahaba, the noise making him jump. When he grabbed his plate of steaming food, he felt a blush creeping up on his cheeks. Where did that come from? _Don’t think about him like that._

God, he was so embarrassing.

He went to sit by the dinner table and shoved his food into his mouth, convincing himself that _no, he didn’t think about Shirabu that way, they weren’t even friends, he didn’t even know him._

He really wanted to be friends with Shirabu, though.

Another thought floated by, saying that it was okay to acknowledge that Shirabu was cute, that that didn’t say anything about his feelings. It only made Yahaba feel more embarrassed.

When he’d finished his food, he stomped upstairs to his bedroom, his exhausted body yearning for his bed. He jumped into his pyjamas and brushed his teeth, and when he finally let himself drop onto the mattress, he let out a content sigh. He shimmied underneath the covers, and was setting the alarm on his phone for the next morning when it hit him.

_I should’ve asked him for his phone number._

~~~

The next day, during training, Yahaba was again having trouble focusing. He was actively weighing the pros and cons of being a captain against each other, imagining what he’d do in certain situations, and wondering what his third year would be like if he chose to be captain. While it would’ve been smart to keep his mind clear during training, his thoughts kept drifting back and forth, which resulted in what Yahaba thought was a new record of missed sets.

Oikawa pulled him aside, telling him to take a break. Yahaba agreed begrudgingly, and Oikawa only gave him a look and a pat on his shoulder before he resumed his own training. Yahaba trudged to one of the benches nearby and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees and letting his head hang between his shoulders. _What is wrong with me?_

Now that he didn’t have to think about two things at once, his thoughts went back to what he’d dubbed ‘the captain problem’. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be captain. Hell, being chosen by Oikawa himself was a great honour to him. To have someone like Oikawa think Yahaba was fit to be captain… it was the confidence booster he never thought he’d needed. 

But it also added pressure. Not only did Yahaba fear that he wasn’t as reliable his upperclassman thought he was, being the captain of a strong team like Aoba Johsai after Oikawa left would be, softly said, a bit of an anti-climax.

The bench Yahaba sat on shifted a bit as someone came to sit beside him.

“Anything interesting floating around in that mind of yours?” Kindaichi asked, reaching behind the bench in search of a water bottle. 

“Enough to make me miss all my sets,” Yahaba grumbled. “It’s awfully distracting.”

“Tell me,” Kindaichi said, looking at him with eyes filled with both worry and curiosity.

“Well,” Yahaba sighed, letting his eyes drift over his fellow teammates, who were either training, resting, or fooling around. He chuckled once when he noticed Matsukawa trying to make a volleyball spin on Hanamaki’s head.

“Oikawa-san told me yesterday that he wants me to be captain next year,” Yahaba said, the words somehow feeling heavy on his tongue.

“Wow, really?” Kindaichi exclaimed, his eyes wide. “Congratulations!” Yahaba felt Kindaichi’s hand slapping his back, harder than he’d expected, and it almost knocked the breath out of him.

“Thanks,” Yahaba said, smiling. He tried really hard to ignore the urge to rub his own back. “I’m not sure I can do it, though,” he admitted.

“Why not?” Kindaichi asked. “You seem like a fine captain to me.”

“I don’t know, I just..” Yahaba hesitated, searching for the right words. When he couldn’t find a better explanation, he sighed, “I just don’t think I’m good enough.”

The two boys were silent for a while, and Yahaba listened to the sound of squeaking shoes and volleyballs slamming into the ground. After all this time that he’s played volleyball, the sound was almost calming to him. A second home, in a way.

“I don’t know if it helps,” Kindaichi began, toying with his water bottle, “but in the game against Shiratorizawa, you were the only one who kept encouraging us until the end, even though our chances of winning were down to zero. The pressure was immensely high, and yet those words calmed me down enough to think clearly.”

Yahaba looked at Kindaichi with raised eyebrows, and Kindaichi smiled at him. “So maybe you should rethink that statement. I think you’ll do just fine as a captain.”

_Don’t you think I didn’t notice the way you cheered for your team even though you weren’t playing. Even though your team was very likely to lose, you didn’t let that get to you. That kind of fighting spirit is admirable. You kept your head cool, too, despite everything. Those are good qualities, fit for being a captain._

Yahaba smiled.

“Thanks, Yuutarou. That actually did help.”

Yahaba heard Kindaichi sputter next to him, probably because of hearing his first name out of the blue. “I-it’s nothing,” he insisted. 

Yahaba took a deep breath and stood up. “I guess there’s just one thing left to do now.”

Once he spotted Oikawa, setting for his third-year teammates in the corner of the gym, he made his way towards him. He found himself standing up straighter, walking with a stronger gait, as he approached the group of players. 

“Oikawa-san,” Yahaba called out. The moment those words left his lips, he realized he should’ve waited a little longer. 

Oikawa looked at him, causing him to lose track of the ball he was following, and a second later the ball smacked against his head and bounced away. He pouted as the other third-years bursted out laughing. Shaking it off quickly, he ran towards Yahaba, who was trying to hide his smile.

“What is it?” Oikawa asked. “Is this abou-- could you guys stop laughing? I’m dealing with important matters here!” he interrupted himself, turning around to glare at his classmates, who were still losing it. 

Without waiting for a response, he sighed and turned back to Yahaba. “What is it?” he repeated, smiling friendly. 

“I, uh, just wanted to let you know that I accept the offer of becoming captain next year,” Yahaba said.

Oikawa’s smile grew into a grin. “Fantastic! I’m really glad,” he exclaimed, patting Yahaba on the shoulder. “Yesterday you seemed a bit doubtful about it, though. What made you change your mind?”

Yahaba shrugged. “A few people encouraged me. I’m still not entirely convinced, but it’s a challenge I’m willing to take on.”

“Wonderful,” Oikawa stated, pulling his arm back to plant it on his hip. “I thought it’d take you longer to decide, but I guess I underestimated you. I’m proud of you.”

Yahaba thanked him, bowing slightly, both as a sign of respect and to hide the blush creeping up on his cheeks. Oikawa laughed, waving his hand and insisting it was nothing.

“I’m just wondering,” Oikawa began, once Yahaba stood up straight again, looking at him with a more serious expression on his face. “Was this why you were distracted today?”

_Among other things._ “Yeah,” Yahaba admitted. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Oikawa insisted. “At least you were thinking about useful things.” 

Yahaba snorted. _Useful things, huh._ Oikawa raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question it.

“Now,” Oikawa said, that smile of his lighting up his whole face. “Let’s work on those sets of yours, shall we?”

Yahaba frowned, even as Oikawa winked and patted him on his back. But when Oikawa made his way to one of the courts, Yahaba followed.

~~~

It was raining when Yahaba exited the club room a few hours later.

Training had gone better once he got the captain problem out of his mind, and with a few tips from Oikawa, he got back into the flow of setting again. His mood raised every time a hitter of his team got a good spike in thanks to his sets, and when he took a break again, Oikawa gave him a thumbs up from a few fields away.

Once he noticed the rain, Yahaba dug one of those tiny foldable umbrellas out of his sports bag, unfolding it and thanking his past self for putting the thing in his bag a week or so ago. As he made his way to the school gates, his thoughts drifted to Shirabu.

He wanted to thank him for motivating him, for convincing him he could be a good captain after all. But he had no means of contacting him, and casually dropping by Shiratorizawa and hoping he might be on time to catch him there was weird and creepy.

_Maybe I should keep my distance. We’re not even friends. I’m don’t think he even wants to be friends._

Yahaba reached the school gates, and was about to turn left, planning to go home right away to finish some homework, when he hesitated. What if.. No, it couldn't be. Not two days in a row.

Yahaba stared down the unknown street he walked through yesterday.

_I must be an idiot._

Yahaba sighed, silently cursing himself, and turned right.

~~~

Yahaba was sure he was pushing his luck as the playground from yesterday came into view. As he’d expected, the playground was empty, save for a few kids running around, chasing each other and laughing. Something in Yahaba deflated at the sight, even though he’d been trying very hard not to get his hopes up.

_Okay, you checked the playground. Now go home like every other sane person would._

Again, Yahaba hesitated. Would it be too weird for him to wait here, in the off chance that Shirabu might come here again? Why was he so eager to talk to him, anyway?

Before his mind was conscious of it, his legs started trudging towards a bench nearby, tucked underneath the low branches of a tree. Since the tree sheltered the bench beneath from the rain, it was safe to sit on without soaking his pants, so, folding his umbrella, he sat down. He let his gaze wander over the playground, over the kids fooling around with dripping hair, and listened to the pitter-patter of the drops hitting the leaves above his head.

It was kind of relaxing, actually.

Yahaba tried to convince himself that that was the reason he stayed there, and not because he was waiting for some boy who may or may not be his friend, and who may or may not show up somewhere in the near future.

But despite everything, he still wanted to talk to Shirabu. He wanted to let him know that he’d chosen to be captain thanks to his encouraging words, and that Shirabu could do the same if he tried. He wanted to get to know Shirabu, wanted to move past those stone-cold walls he seemed to have built around himself, and discover what was behind them. 

Yahaba wanted to be his friend. For whatever reason.

_Do you need a reason to want to be friends with someone?_

“Unbelievable,” he heard a voice say. 

Yahaba snapped out of his thoughts and looked up. _Unbelievable, indeed._

There stood Shirabu, one hand on the strap of his sports bag, the other in the pocket of his jacket. His wet hair was sticking to his forehead, and raindrops rolled down his cheeks and dripped from his chin. 

“Don’t you have an umbrella?” Yahaba blurted out. _What a way of greeting someone, smart-ass._

“Left it at home,” Shirabu shrugged. “Didn’t think I’d need it. I don’t mind the rain much anyway.”

“Come sit here,” Yahaba offered, pulling his bag from the bench and onto the ground. “You’ll be dry.”

“No, I’ll still be soaked,” Shirabu deadpanned. “I’ll soak the bench, too.”

“Just come over here, you idiot,” Yahaba said, patting the bench and glaring at Shirabu, who rolled his eyes and came closer. He lowered himself on the bench, letting his bag slide from his shoulder, and let his muscles relax with a sigh.

“Long day?” Yahaba asked.

Shirabu nodded. “Training was savage today. I’m this close to dying,” he said, holding up his right hand and measuring about a centimeter between his thumb and forefinger.

“You seem pretty alive to me,” Yahaba commented. Shirabu gave him a look that seemed to suggest he was dead inside.

Yahaba was about to reply when he remembered something. He opened his bag and rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for. Shirabu was looking at him from the corner of his eyes when Yahaba pulled out a towel.

“Here,” he said, handing the towel to Shirabu. “For your hair.”

Shirabu’s eyes flitted back and forth between the towel and Yahaba’s face, an expression on his face that Yahaba couldn’t quite identify. Then Shirabu slowly reached out to grab the towel.

“Thanks,” he said softly, unfolding it and rubbing it back and forth over his head, the cloth hiding his face from Yahaba’s line of sight. When he removed it, his hair stuck up in all directions, but Shirabu didn’t seem to care. He turned to Yahaba, moving to hand back the towel, and locking his eyes on Yahaba’s face, he frowned.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked, sounding annoyed.

Yahaba felt like he got hit in the chest by a lightning bolt. “Nothing,” he said quickly, almost yanking the towel from Shirabu’s hands and busying himself with folding it and fitting it back into his bag.

_Was I smiling?_

From the corner of his eyes Yahaba watched Shirabu smooth his hair down with movements that almost seemed self-conscious. Yahaba zipped his bag closed, then folded his hands in his lap.

“I told Oikawa-san that I want to be captain next year,” Yahaba said, keeping his eyes on his hands. He felt Shirabu shift on the bench.

“Really?” he asked. “That’s great.”

“Yeah,” Yahaba hummed. “It’s all thanks to you, though. Oh, and Kindaichi, too. But mainly you.”

When there was nothing but silence next to him, Yahaba looked up, and saw Shirabu staring at him. 

“What? What did I do?” Shirabu eventually forced out, eyebrows furrowing. “I only pointed out facts you seemed to overlook.”

“Yeah, well, that helped,” Yahaba said, almost annoyed. Didn’t he understand how valuable those words were? “So, thank you. Thanks a lot, actually.”

“You’re welcome,” Shiraba responded, voice sounding a bit monotone, as if he answered on autopilot rather than free will. His eyebrows were still set in a frown when he looked away.

“Is something wrong?” Yahaba asked. _I didn’t offend him, did I?_

Shirabu shook his head no, fidgeting with the tape around his fingers. He flinched when he touched a certain spot on his middle finger, and proceeded to slowly remove the tape. Yahaba somehow couldn’t look away.

“What are you looking at?” Shirabu asked without looking up, and Yahaba sat up straight, averting his eyes. 

“Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.”

“ _You’re_ being weird,” Yahaba countered for lack of a better response. Shirabu only snorted, continuing to unwrap his fingers, which looked a bit swollen and bruised. Once he got all of the tape off, he carefully examined his fingers, as if checking for any serious damage. 

“What did you do to your hands?” Yahaba asked before he could stop himself. Damnit, he really didn’t have a filter around this guy, did he?

“Didn’t I tell you that training was savage?” Shirabu responded. “This is what you get when you train during the reign of the Demon Coach.”

“Doesn’t he let you, you know, rest?”

“Not for long.”

Yahaba had heard of the strict training schedule of Shiratorizawa Academy, but he didn’t think people actually left the gym with bruised fingers.

“Don’t pull a face like that, I’ll be fine,” Shirabu said, making Yahaba wonder what kind of face he was subconsciously pulling exactly.

“Is your coach, like, a lunatic or something?” Yahaba ranted. “Doesn’t he know resting is as important as training?”

“Hell if I know. He probably thinks ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ are good words to live by.”

Yahaba burst out laughing. “Good one,” he chuckled. He saw Shirabu try to suppress a smile. He seemed to give up after a second or two, laughing along with Yahaba.

“Maybe you should offer him a banner with those words when he retires,” Yahaba suggested, making both boys laugh even harder.

“I bet his reaction would be, ‘I should’ve killed you when I had the chance’,” Shirabu said, trying and failing to keep his laughter in check. “Then he’d make us hit a thousand serves just to prove his point.”

“He’d do that?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

As their laughter was slowly dying out, Yahaba checked the time on his phone.

“Shit,” he cursed. “It’s later than I thought, I still have homework to do.”

Shirabu seemed to realize that school still existed. “Me too,” he said, standing up and slinging his sports bag across his shoulder. Yahaba did the same. 

“Before you go,” Yahaba started, tapping around a bit on his phone and trying to suppress the nerves he suddenly felt creeping up in his stomach. “Can I get your number?” He held out his phone, allowing Shirabu to enter his phone number.

“What do you want my number for?” Shirabu asked, giving him a weird look but taking the phone nonetheless.

“Communication purposes,” Yahaba blurted, trying not to blush. 

“You can call texting by its actual name, you know,” Shirabu deadpanned, only taking a few seconds to punch in his number. Yahaba felt his cheeks heat up.

“There you go,” Shirabu said, giving him back his phone. “You can text me later so I’ll get yours.”

Yahaba nodded, a bit too flustered to speak. What was he even flustered about? Asking for someone’s number is not strange in any way. He was convinced it wasn’t.

“Well,” Shirabu said, stepping out of the shelter of the tree into the rain, which had quieted down into a light drizzle during the time they talked. “I’ll see you around, Yahaba.”

“Shirabu,” Yahaba called out, and Shirabu looked over his shoulder, giving him a questioning look.

“Take good care of your hands.”

Shirabu looked down at his hands, as if he’d forgotten about his bruises and swollen knuckles. Then he glanced back at Yahaba, nodded, and left without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Yahaba is in so deep
> 
> Thank you so much for reading so far <3  
> As always: hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it!
> 
> Comments/feedback are very much appreciated :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with me and my story so far! I appreciate the kudos and comments more than I can say <3  
> This update is a lil bit shorter than usual but I promise the next one will be longer again!

Yahaba’s mind was buzzing when he came back home. He kicked off his shoes and put his umbrella out to dry before running upstairs. Once he entered his room, he discarded his bag next to his desk, and went to sit on his bed. He took his phone from his pocket and opened a new conversation in WhatsApp.

**Yahaba:** Hey it’s Yahaba

It only took a few seconds for Shirabu to read the message, and soon Yahaba saw him typing.

**Shirabu:** That took you longer than I thought

**Yahaba:** What’s that supposed to mean?

**Shirabu:** That’s for you to figure out

**Yahaba:** Very funny

“Shigeru!” his mother called from downstairs. “Dinner!”

“Coming!” Yahaba yelled. He quickly tapped a message to Shirabu.

**Yahaba:** Sorry got to go, dinner

Just when he was getting up to leave, his phone dinged.

**Shirabu:** Is ok, got some homework to do anyway

Yahaba smiled, throwing his phone on his bed, and went downstairs.

During dinner, he cheerfully told his parents he was going to be captain of the volleyball team the following year. They congratulated him, with warm smiles and everything, but then quickly moved on to different matters. While Yahaba was used to it, it stung a little nonetheless.

Yahaba knew their reaction would be luke-warm at most, since they weren’t exactly that supportive of his volleyball career. Because he was warming the bench more often than not, his parents insisted there was more merit in him investing the time in school instead. No matter how often Yahaba told them he loved playing volleyball, that he wouldn’t trade it for anything else (especially not homework), they only seemed to care about his academic life. So any time he brought volleyball up during a conversation with his parents, they often found a way to change the subject.

His excitement about being a future captain drained away quickly after that.

After finishing dinner, Yahaba went back upstairs silently, feeling like his mood was dropping right to the center of the earth. He let himself fall on his bed backwards, nearly crushing his phone in the process, and stared at the ceiling.

He knew he would probably stop playing volleyball competitively after high school, and would only continue playing recreationally, if he had the time to do so. No matter how he looked at it, he lacked the potential to go pro, and even if he’d put in the effort, he’d probably be stuck on the bench over and over and over again. While that was something Yahaba could live with, it made those years he still played in high school so much more important to him. 

He wanted to make the best out of the time he had left with his current team, but the disapproval of his parents always left a bitter aftertaste he couldn’t quite ignore.

In search of a distraction, Yahaba grabbed his phone and headphones to listen to some music. It was then that he noticed he’d received another message from Shirabu. For some reason, the notification made his heart jump in his chest. He was too tired to get in another argument with himself about his nonsensical feelings, so he put on some music and opened the message.

**Shirabu:** Why were you at the playground today?

Yahaba felt his heart jump a second time, and he knew that wasn’t for the same reason as before. 

He wasn’t crazy enough to admit that he’d visited the playground for the off chance of seeing Shirabu (because part of him was still convinced that he hadn’t). He’d sound like the stalker Shirabu had made him out to be during their first conversation.

But he didn’t have any other reasonable explanations. So Yahaba went for the not-so-subtle subject change. 

**Yahaba:** Why were you there?

It took a minute or two before Shirabu replied.

**Shirabu:** Does it matter?

**Yahaba:** Yes. A lot

**Shirabu:** You’re absolutely impossible

Yahaba rummaged through his foggy mind, trying to find a fitting reply. But after a few seconds, Shirabu started typing again.

**Shirabu:** I go there almost every day to think about stuff

**Shirabu:** It’s become kind of a habit

Well, that did kind of explain why Yahaba met him again at a _playground_ , of all places. It had just been pure coincidence, though, that he happened to stumble across that place the moment Shirabu was there.

**Yahaba:** So that’s what you were doing yesterday?

**Shirabu:** Yeah basically

**Shirabu:** Until you came along

Yahaba was typing a reply, and was nearly pressing send when Shirabu started typing too. He decided to wait it out.

**Shirabu:** I was planning to do the same today

**Shirabu:** But then you were there. Again

**Shirabu:** Are you sure you’re not a stalker?

Yahaba nearly choked. _Now that you mention it, I’m not so sure._

**Yahaba:** Positive

**Shirabu:** Takes more than that to convince me, pretty boy

Yahaba felt something in his chest constrict, and tried really hard not to think about the potential meaning of those words, or the way his body seemed to interpret them.

**Yahaba:** Did you just call me pretty?

**Shirabu:** Wtf no

**Shirabu:** Get your insults straight

**Yahaba:** I don’t think calling someone pretty is considered an insult these days ;)

**Shirabu:** Don’t throw winky faces at me like that

**Shirabu:** I will fight you

**Yahaba:** I don’t doubt that

Yahaba laughed quietly at the conversation before him. He felt the heaviness in his chest from the conversation with his parents fade a little. Whether that was because of talking to Shirabu or because of the distraction in general didn’t really matter to him.

**Shirabu:** Don’t you have to study or something

**Shirabu:** I mean exam season exists for all schools right

**Shirabu:** Or am I just really unlucky

**Yahaba:** No actually our school stages duels in which all second-years have to fight to the death and those who survive pass the exams

**Shirabu:** No need for sass, salty boy

**Yahaba:** I think you’re the saltier one of us, Shirabu, don’t lie

**Shirabu:** Says the person who attacked me for no reason

**Shirabu:** But seriously though shouldn’t you be studying

**Yahaba:** Why do you care?

**Shirabu:** I don’t. I’m just wondering

**Yahaba:** Whatever, salt shaker

**Shirabu:** I will fight you

**Shirabu:** After I finish revising stuff for my exams

**Yahaba:** When do they start?

**Shirabu:** Next week. After that it’s summer break

**Yahaba:** Same here

**Shirabu:** Then I’ll see you in the pit when summer break starts

**Yahaba:** I can’t wait

After that Shirabu went offline, and Yahaba assumed he was resuming his studies. Yahaba supposed he should do the same. With his parents’ attitude towards his school career, it might have bad consequences if he managed to fail any of those exams.

At the thought of his parents Yahaba noticed he wasn’t feeling as bad as he did before. Talking to Shirabu had cheered him up, somehow. In a way, it didn’t really surprise Yahaba. He made a mental note to thank him for it once he had the time.

Yahaba rolled off his bed and shuffled to his desk, plopping down on the chair in front of it and pulling the textbooks he needed out of his bag. He still had a few hours before it was time to sleep, and with volleyball training being at its max in preparation for the Spring tournament, he didn’t have much time to study. Better now than never.

Yahaba sighed, placing his elbow on the desk and leaning his head on his hand. He leafed through his textbooks until he found the right pages, and started revising.

~~~

The next string of days was a blur of school, volleyball training, and revising for exams. Every day after training, Watari asked Yahaba to study with him for a couple of hours, insisting it helped him remember the material. Yahaba joined him every time, knowing Watari could help him with subjects he was bad at, and studying together was more bearable than studying on your own. That often resulted in them getting take-out somewhere, or Yahaba staying over at Watari’s place for dinner, because it was too late to eat at home. But while studying together had its benefits, Yahaba somehow felt bad for not having the possibility to spend that time elsewhere. Like at a certain playground.

On one hand Yahaba regretted not being able to go to meet up with Shirabu, but on the other hand, Shirabu might as well be skipping his thinking time and spending it on studying instead. Besides, he’d already been pushing his luck by going to the playground before, and he was sure Shirabu would think him weird for showing up more often. Especially when he’d just told Yahaba he often came there daily, and that he came there to think, not to chat with someone he barely knew.

_Why do you want to see him so badly, anyway?_

Yahaba hadn’t texted much with Shirabu since the last time they did. He assumed Shirabu was busy doing other things, but Yahaba noticed it stung a bit nonetheless. He had hoped he’d made progress in befriending Shirabu, and getting to know his phone number had certainly helped, but now it only felt like they were drifting apart again. And it was only confusing to Yahaba how much he actually cared. He didn’t want to care that much, but he did. 

_Don’t you have other things to think about?_

Yahaba was sitting by his desk, revising the last few things before his first exam the next Monday morning, when his phone dinged. He’d expected it was Watari, asking something about the subject matter, but his breath caught in his throat when he noticed Shirabu had sent a message. Momentarily forgetting that he was supposed to study, he opened it.

**Shirabu:** Good luck at your exams tomorrow

The message was so simple, so casual, and yet it brought a smile to Yahaba’s face.

**Yahaba:** You too! Let’s kick some exam ass tomorrow!

**Shirabu:** Do you realize how stupid that sounds

**Yahaba:** Do you realize how salty you are?

**Shirabu:** Remind me to never be nice to you again

**Yahaba:** I didn’t realize that was you being nice. My bad

**Shirabu:** I WILL FIGHT YOU YAHABA

**Yahaba:** Let’s fight those exams first shall we?

**Shirabu:** You’re fucking unbelievable

**Shirabu:** Why are we friends again?

_Wait a second._

**Yahaba:** Are we?

**Shirabu:** Yes I’m surprised too

**Yahaba:** Shirabu I’m serious

**Shirabu:** Oh

**Shirabu:** Well

**Shirabu:** I mean

**Shirabu:** We know each other and talk regularly, I think that counts as being friends

**Yahaba:** Are you sure?

**Shirabu:** God Yahaba it’s not like I know what friendship means, do you know how many friends I have

**Shirabu:** Wait forget I said that

**Shirabu:** But if you want to be friends that’s fine by me

_He wants to be friends with me?_

**Yahaba:** Yes I want to be friends

**Shirabu:** Wow sounds desperate

**Shirabu:** Jk jk

**Shirabu:** But that’s nice :)

**Yahaba:** I do not trust that smiley face

**Yahaba:** What are you plotting

**Shirabu:** Yahaba I swear to god

**Shirabu:** I will come to Seijoh and kick your ass

**Yahaba:** And you said you weren’t salty

**Shirabu:** Good night Yahaba

Yahaba didn’t think Shirabu would actually leave, but when WhatsApp signified Shirabu was offline, Yahaba laughed out loud. Shirabu was a mystery, but a very interesting and entertaining one at that.

And now they were friends.

Somehow, that fact made him sleep more soundly than he had in days.

~~~

The next three days were full of suffering. Having had two exams every day, Yahaba was more than drained when he exited school after the last one on Wednesday. Training was officially cancelled until next week, so now Yahaba had all the time in the world to relax. Which he needed, because his brain was positively fried. 

When Yahaba came home, he had to do everything in his power to not just collapse on his bed and sleep for five years. He did almost nod off when he listened to music for a bit, and stared off in the distance a lot during dinner, but he wanted to stay awake so he could do fun things now that he had the time.

After dinner he tried reading a book he’d been meaning to read for weeks, but he couldn’t focus on the letters in front of him. Knowing there was no use in trying any longer, he put the book on his nightstand, got up to prepare for bed, and rolled himself up in the covers of his bed once he was done. It didn’t take long before he fell asleep.

The next morning, he was awakened by the sun shining in his face, peeking through the gap between his curtains. Yahaba stretched, rolled over, and revelled in the fact that he didn’t have to go anywhere today. The clock on his wall told him it was just past 9.30 in the morning, and the sunny weather outside suggested it was going to be a beautiful day.

Yahaba grabbed his phone from his nightstand, checking it for messages out of habit while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He smiled when he noticed he had a message from Shirabu, but the contents of it made him sit up in disbelief.

**Shirabu:** Do you want to hang out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always:
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it!
> 
> Comments/feedback are very much appreciated :)
> 
> I hope you all have a nice day!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, I've written a giant chapter for today's update. Don't expect the following ones to be this long, haha.  
> Thank you all once again for the kudos and comments, I don't have words for how much I appreciate them <3  
> I hope you'll enjoy this update!

Yahaba had to stare at the message for a while before the meaning of it really sunk in. Trying to suppress his surprise and excitement, he quickly typed a reply. 

**Yahaba:** Sure, what time?

Only then did he notice the message was sent almost an hour ago. While one part of him wondered why Shirabu was up that early, another part of him was embarrassed of how rapidly he’d reacted. Not expecting Shirabu to respond anytime soon, he got up and shuffled downstairs.

There was a special kind of bliss in making breakfast when no one else was home, with the summer sun streaming through the windows and warming Yahaba’s face when he was waiting for the water for his tea to boil. The radio played music softly in the background, and a gentle breeze from outside was cooling down the air around him.

The dinner table was bathed in sunlight when he sat down, nearly inhaling his breakfast. When he was done, his eyes wandered to the view outside his window, the bright, warm light making him sleepy as he sipped his tea. Yahaba smiled softly. _Now_ this _is relaxing._

After a while, he got up and cleaned his dishes, fearing that if he sat in that sunny spot any longer, he’d actually fall asleep. He hopped up the stairs and changed into shorts and a t-shirt. Then he flopped down on his bed and checked his phone, discovering he had one new message from Shirabu.

**Shirabu:** Whenever you’re ready

Yahaba saw the message was sent about five minutes ago, so he hoped Shirabu would notice his reply as he typed.

**Yahaba:** I’m ready to go

**Yahaba:** Meet you at the playground in 30?

Shirabu came online just as he tapped send on the last message. 

**Shirabu:** Sure

**Shirabu:** See you there

It took about 20 minutes to get to the playground if Yahaba walked quickly, so he still had time. But after sitting on his bed and bouncing his legs for two minutes, he couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. He made sure to close up well when he left, and he took to the streets with a slight skip in his steps.

Yahaba blamed his good mood on the weather and the fact that his exams were over, but part of him was sure Shirabu had something to do with it as well. He didn’t like to admit it, but Shirabu had been on his mind an awful lot since they met, and he’d never found a reason why. Unless, maybe--

_Don’t be absurd. You barely know him._

Yahaba dug his hands into his pockets, pushing the thoughts from his mind, and kept walking.

As he’d expected, Shirabu wasn’t there yet when he arrived at the playground. He made his way to the swing set they sat on before, and made himself comfortable on one of the swings. After another minute of nervously bouncing his legs -- _nervous? Why am I nervous?_ \-- Yahaba pushed off with his feet, swinging back and forth. _That’s what these things are meant for, right?_

He swung with his legs, accelerating, going higher and higher. Yahaba found himself smiling. He’d forgotten how fun this was. He kept his eyes on the cloudless sky, and imagined himself disappearing into the deep, deep blue.

“What are you doing?” asked a voice suddenly. 

During his descent back to the ground, Yahaba looked beside him, and saw Shirabu there, standing a safe distance away from Yahaba’s swinging legs. His thumbs were hooked in the pockets of his shorts, and he looked at Yahaba with raised eyebrows. 

“Reliving my youth,” Yahaba said, swinging forward again, feeling the wind push back his hair. 

“Whatever,” Shirabu mumbled, taking a seat on the swing beside Yahaba. Yahaba dragged the soles of his feet over the ground beneath him, trying to lose some of his speed. 

“How’d your exams go?” Yahaba asked.

“Do _not_ ,” Shirabu ordered, “talk to me about school when I have a day off.”

“Okay, okay,” Yahaba huffed. “Salty much?”

Shirabu didn’t reply, and looked down on his hands, his eyebrows slipping into a frown.

_Something’s not right._

Yahaba dug his feet into the ground, stopping his swinging in its tracks with quite some effort. “Are you okay?”

Shirabu hummed, shrugging. “Tired.”

Yahaba decided to drop the matter, since Shirabu didn’t seem to want to talk about it. 

“Any specific reason why you wanted to hang out?” he asked instead.

Shirabu shrugged again, his fingers fidgeting with themselves and the space between them. Yahaba noticed he wasn’t wearing tape this time.

“I guess I just wanted some company.”

_Are you lonely, Shirabu?_

“Well, I’m here all day. What do you want to do?”

Shirabu’s eyes lifted, his gaze flitting over the empty playground. His hands clutched each other almost hopelessly. “I don’t know.”

Yahaba started swinging back and forth again, not knowing what else to do. He saw Shirabu looking at him, and, after a few seconds, pushing off his feet, doing the same. They swayed for a bit in silence, until Yahaba remembered something.

“Didn’t you vow to fight me as soon as the exams ended? I don’t see any fighting spirit.”

Shirabu snorted. “I can still fight you if you want me to.”

“I may have to decline that offer,” Yahaba said, smirking. Shirabu glanced at him, a tiny smile forming on his lips. It was gone after just a second, but it was there.

And then Yahaba had an idea. It was a very stupid one at that, but stupidity might be exactly what he needed. _To cheer Shirabu up._

Yahaba flung his legs forward, trying to accelerate. He gained height and speed quickly, and soon he got so high he almost flew off his seat. 

“Yahaba,” Shirabu started, voice sounding just slightly alarmed. “Yahaba, what are you doing?”

“Something very stupid,” Yahaba said, swinging his legs forward for the last time. When he swung backwards again, he readied himself, bowing forward and praying to every god that would listen that he wouldn’t break something.

“Yahaba,” Shirabu said, standing up rapidly. “Don’t tell me--”

Yahaba swung forward, and pushed himself off the swing at it’s highest point. He hurtled through the air, letting out a shriek -- an actual shriek -- and trying to steady himself with his arms. His feet hit the ground with an overwhelming force, and he flew forward with the overflow of momentum. After a few steps he lost his footing, and before he knew it he crashed face-first into the ground, his hands just barely breaking his fall.

For a moment, there was absolute silence. Even the wind seemed to have stopped blowing. Yahaba rolled over and leaned on his elbows, glancing to Shirabu, who was watching him with wide eyes and outstretched hands as if to stop him. The swing he’d jumped off of was still moving.

And then.

Shirabu burst out laughing, doubling over with the sudden force. His laughter made all the sounds return. Yahaba sat up, brushing dirt off his hands, and couldn’t stop a smile from spreading on his face. It was one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard.

_I want to make him laugh again._

“You,” Shirabu wheezed, clutching his stomach, “are the craziest person I’ve ever met.” He grabbed the pole of the swing set with one hand to keep himself upright, still laughing. 

Yahaba chuckled to himself, getting to his feet. The palms of his hands stung a little from the impact, but he barely felt it. 

“All right, that’s enough,” Yahaba said with a smile, crossing his arms. “You can stop now.”

“That _shriek_ ,” Shirabu forced out, his voice high and loud. “I’ve never heard a human make such a sound before. And your _face_ \--” 

He lost it again, and Yahaba could only smile brighter. He vowed to always remember this sight: Shirabu, nearly sinking to his knees with uncontrollable laughter, grinning from ear to ear and tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Honestly though,” Shirabu said, when he was finally able to catch his breath. He straightened his back and wiped the escaped tears from his face. “You are positively insane. Who does that?”

Yahaba shrugged, smiling. Shirabu smiled back, shaking his head in disbelief. Yahaba could almost hear him think, _unbelievable_.

“No matter how hilarious that was,” Shirabu sighed, sinking back onto the swing, “don’t do that again. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” Yahaba said, walking back to the swing set. The swing he’d jumped off of still swayed slightly from his ridiculous stunt when he settled himself onto it again.

“At least we had something to do.”

Shirabu hummed beside him. A few seconds of silence ticked by before he spoke again.

“So.. now what?”

“No idea,” Yahaba replied. He swayed back and forth a little, his feet still touching the ground. Shirabu started swinging again as well, probably for lack of something to do. 

“You know,” Shirabu said, the corners of his lips turning up into a small smile. “I bet I could jump farther than you did.”

“Let’s not.. try that out right now,” Yahaba chuckled. “I don’t even remember how far I jumped anyway. Too busy fearing for my own life, you know.”

Shirabu snorted. “You sure sounded terrified. Why’d you even do that, anyway? You could’ve broken something.”

“I was bored,” Yahaba lied. _I’d better not let slip that I care for his well-being more than I should._ Way _more than I should._

Shirabu hummed, and Yahaba couldn’t quite figure out if he’d bought his lie. He didn’t seem to question his answer, though.

“Sorry for being boring company, then,” Shirabu said, his voice sounding a bit flat. Before Yahaba was able to deny that was the case, Shirabu continued.

“So, like, do you jump out of airplanes in your free time or something?” A low chuckle. “If you pull dangerous stunts like that like it’s nothing.”

“No! No, I don’t usually.. do stuff like that,” Yahaba assured him. Though the idea was almost funny to him. Yahaba, a kid who’d rather listen to music or read a book in silence, jumping out of airplanes?

“Then why..” Shirabu’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head as if to clear thoughts from his mind. 

They swung back and forth in silence. Yahaba kept his eyes on the blue sky, and focused on the feeling of the air on his skin every time he moved forward. 

From the corners of his eyes, he saw Shirabu lean backwards, his hands clutching the chains of the swing the only thing that kept him from falling off. He angled his face up towards the sun, closing his eyes, and Yahaba couldn’t help but watch him, silently stopping his swinging in its tracks to get a better look. Shirabu’s eyelashes fluttered in the sudden light, and his lips were slightly parted. His cheeks were a bit flushed due to the rising heat. It was as if the stone-cold walls around him were replaced with glass panes. He almost looked.. soft.

_Pretty._

Yahaba couldn’t even deny it. Shirabu was pretty. 

Shirabu opened his eyes, and Yahaba had to act like he hadn’t been staring, hoping the blush that crept up his cheeks seemed to be caused by the sun above them. 

“Say, Yahaba,” Shirabu started, moving to sit upright again, his voice missing its usual edge. “Could we maybe go inside, somewhere? I believe I’m just seconds away from being fried by the sun.”

“Yeah, it’s starting to get hot,” Yahaba mused. 

“That,” Shirabu said, “and my skin burns more easily than it tans.”

Yahaba hummed in understanding. He stood up from the swing, stretching a bit. “We could get lunch at my house?” he said, more a suggestion than a question. 

“Sounds good,” Shirabu replied, getting to his feet. “Lead the way.”

~~~

Yahaba turned on the air conditioning the moment he entered his house, and once the cool air spread through the room both boys audibly sighed in relief. Yahaba told Shirabu to make himself comfortable in the living room while he got to work on lunch, but Shirabu insisted he wanted to help out with cooking. After two minutes of bickering, Yahaba suggested a truce by getting pork buns from the bakery two blocks away while Shirabu stayed inside. Shirabu agreed, but on the condition that Yahaba didn’t pay for Shirabu’s food. Yahaba really didn’t mind treating Shirabu, but he let it slide, and Shirabu promised to pay him back as soon as he could.

After lunch, they both sat on the couch in the living room, revelling in the cool air of the air conditioner, two ice cold glasses of lemonade on the table in front of them.

“So..” Yahaba started, feeling the need to fill the silence between them. “What do you want to do now?”

“Fuck if I know,” Shirabu sighed, no real venom behind his words. “But if I keep sitting here any longer my bare limbs will probably get stuck forever. Who owns a leather couch anyway?” 

He proved his point by moving up his arm, the leather making almost a sucking sound when it lost contact with his skin. 

Yahaba rolled his eyes and stood up, the feeling of the leather sticking to his skin before letting go nearly sending a chill down his spine. 

“We could play a game?” he suggested. “I have a Wii upstairs, we could play Mario Kart.”

“Mario Kart,” Shirabu echoed, frowning. 

“You don’t like that game?”

“Ah, um,” Shirabu stammered, his fingers searching something to fidget with. “That’s not exactly the case..” He trailed off, and Yahaba noticed the slightest blush creeping up Shirabu’s cheeks. _Well,_ that’s _something I’ve never seen before._

“Shirabu,” Yahaba deadpanned, “don’t tell me you’ve never played Mario Kart before.”

“I’m just not the gaming kind of person, okay?” Shirabu defended himself, his blush growing redder. _Cute_ , Yahaba caught himself thinking, and then proceeded to mentally slap himself. 

“Well, there’s no other way then,” Yahaba concluded, grabbing Shirabu’s wrist and tugging him upstairs despite his protests. “I’m gonna teach you how to play.”

“Wait, my lemonade!” Shirabu yelled, trying to pull away. “My source of life!”

“Yeah, someone as salty as you must need a shit ton of liquid.”

“For god’s sake, Yahaba.”

Yahaba didn’t let go of Shirabu’s wrist before they reached his room. Shirabu glared at him, massaging his wrist with his other hand, then glanced around Yahaba’s room with a curious expression on his face.

“Stay here, I’m going to get your source of life,” Yahaba ordered, then disappeared back downstairs. 

When he returned, the two glasses of lemonade in his hands, he found Shirabu squatting down, eyes on something tucked in the corner of his room. 

“You play the guitar?” Shirabu asked, without looking up. 

Yahaba put down the glasses on his desk and came to stand behind Shirabu. “Yeah, from time to time. I learned to play as a kid, because I wanted to be a musician someday. Later I realized that probably wouldn’t happen, so it stayed as a hobby.”

Shirabu hummed. “I’d love to hear you play someday,” he said, standing up again and smiling at Yahaba. God, that smile was going to kill Yahaba one day. _Wait, what?_

“But,” Shirabu continued, his smile turning into a frown, “apparently we need to play a stupid ass game instead.”

Yahaba laughed. “Just you wait, after playing once you’re not going to call it stupid.”

“Oh really?” Shirabu asked, crossing his arms and smirking. _Smirking_. “Challenge accepted.”

~~~

That day Yahaba learned a lot about Shirabu. 

First of all, he was incredibly impatient. When he couldn’t get the hang of Mario Kart at first, Yahaba had to physically stop him from flinging his controller across the room. The triumphant smile on his face when he managed to go one round without crashing into something was worth the struggle, though.

Secondly, he was incredibly hotheaded. Once they really got to race against each other, there was no end to Shirabu’s stream of curses and frustrated yelling. Yahaba lost count of how many times Shirabu threatened to murder him, and every time he did so Yahaba bursted out in uncontrollable laughter.

The first time Shirabu won first place, he jumped up and let out a loud whoop of victory. “In your face, Yahaba!” he yelled, cheering and dancing a little. 

Yahaba chuckled, enjoying seeing Shirabu so happy. “I totally let you win, though,” he said, leaning back. 

Shirabu whirled and pointed the controller at Yahaba’s face with a terrifying glare. “You had better fucking not, Yahaba Shigeru.”

Yahaba lifted his hands in defeat, laughing. “I’m just kidding. I know you’d murder me if I did.”

Shirabu crossed his arms, pursing his lips almost arrogantly. “Damn right I would.”

Yahaba got up from the bed they’d made themselves comfortable on. “You want a snack? It’s been a while since lunch.”

“Sounds good,” Shirabu replied.

Later, when Yahaba returned with a tray with two glasses of lemonade and a bowl of chips, he found Shirabu sitting cross-legged on the bed, toying with the Wii controller and staring out the window. 

“Ready for a second round?” Yahaba asked, taking his spot on the bed and putting the tray down between him and Shirabu. Shirabu looked up with a bit of a startled expression, as if pulled out of his train of thought. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, for sure.” Shirabu smirked. “Get ready to be crushed to dust.”

“You’ve only won one time, Shirabu, don’t be arrogant,” Yahaba pointed out, smirking back.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t do it again, Shitgeru,” Shirabu retorted effortlessly. 

“Shitgeru? Seriously?”

“I think it suits you,” Shirabu said, earning him a jab in the side from Yahaba’s elbow.

“You’re awful,” Yahaba said, choosing a track for their next game. “Let’s see if you can get through Rainbow Road unscratched, _Shitabu_.”

Yahaba just barely avoided getting hit in the face with a handful of chips. “Real mature, Shirabu.”

“Let’s see you talk like that again when I beat you,” Shirabu challenged, leaning forward a little when the game started counting down. 

Shirabu did, in fact, not win that game, and Yahaba laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe. Shirabu demanded a rematch, and so they kept playing until Yahaba’s parents returned home around 5 pm in the afternoon, Yahaba’s mother interrupting the game by checking up on them and asking what all the noise was about. Shirabu took that as his cue to leave, despite both Yahaba and his mother insisting he could stay for dinner.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Yahaba asked as both of them reached the front door. Shirabu leaned down to put on his sneakers.

“I think I can find my way back home on my own, Shitgeru,” he deadpanned. He knotted his laces quickly and stood up again.

“Thanks for hanging out with me,” Shirabu said, smiling. “I had a great time.”

“Ah, um,” Yahaba stammered, smiling back and putting one of his hands behind his neck. “It’s nothing, really. We should.. we should do this again.”

Shirabu hummed. “Yeah, we should.”

He opened the front door and stepped outside. “Well,” he said, “see you around, Yahaba.”

“See you around, Shitabu,” Yahaba grinned. When Shirabu glared at him for using that nickname, he made finger guns at him. 

“Unbelievable,” Shirabu said, rolling his eyes, and Yahaba laughed. He stood at the front and watched Shirabu walk through their front yard and onto the sidewalk. When Shirabu looked back, Yahaba waved at him. Shirabu waved back, almost shyly, then dug his phone and earphones from his pockets to listen to music.

Yahaba watched Shirabu walk away until he was out of sight, then went back inside and closed the door behind him.

“Who was that, Shigeru?” His mother asked, peeking out of the kitchen. “A teammate of yours?”

“No,” Yahaba said, then chuckled once. “Actually, he’s the setter of one of our rival teams.”

“Oh,” she responded, probably not knowing what the word ‘setter’ meant. “How’d you meet him?”

“During a game,” he said curtly, hoping his mother wouldn’t ask further. Why did it matter, anyway?

His mother hummed, seeming at a loss of words for a while. When Yahaba moved to go back to his room, his mother said, “dinner’s ready in a minute,” and disappeared in the kitchen again.

Yahaba hopped upstairs to clean up, and returned with the tray with used glasses and the empty bowl of chips to his mother setting the table. 

After dinner, he played Mario Kart for a bit on his own, but wasn’t as fun as it had been with Shirabu yelling curses beside him. It took him half an hour of racing before he got bored and put the controllers away. He absentmindedly zapped through the channels on his tv until it was time to sleep, and he found himself staring at the ceiling after he’d changed into his pyjamas and crawled into bed. 

Yahaba rolled over and reached for his phone, checking it for messages. Nothing. He opened his conversation with Shirabu and scrolled through the messages they’d shared in the few weeks they’d known each other. 

Shirabu had evidently been feeling bad when they met up this morning. While Yahaba had been able to fix it a little without knowing what was going on, he also wanted Shirabu to trust him enough to talk to him about it. Yahaba didn’t want to pry in any way, he had no right or reason to, but if he could help Shirabu by being a listening ear, he’d gladly listen. That’s what friends were supposed to do, right?

Yahaba started typing.

**Yahaba:** I just want you to know

**Yahaba:** If there’s anything bothering you, or if you feel bad or anything, you can talk to me about it if you want to

**Yahaba:** I’m your friend, so I’d be happy to help if there’s something wrong

Yahaba put his phone away, convincing himself that it wasn’t weird to tell someone that. He rolled onto his back, folding his arms underneath his head. The moment he closed his eyes, Shirabu’s face came to mind. The way he glared at him when he said something witty, the way he’d laughed when Yahaba had launched himself off the swing. The way his face had looked so calm and peaceful when he’d leaned backwards on the swing, taking in the summer sun. 

Yahaba opened his eyes to rid himself from that view, but Shirabu didn’t disappear. Then he noticed his phone blinking, and he quickly grabbed it, his heart jumping in his chest when he saw Shirabu had messaged him.

**Shirabu:** Thanks

**Shirabu:** I really appreciate that

**Shirabu:** The same counts for you

Shirabu was still online, so Yahaba quickly tapped a reply.

**Yahaba:** Thank you, I appreciate that

**Shirabu:** Always

**Shirabu:** Shouldn’t you be sleeping

**Yahaba:** Shouldn’t _you_ be sleeping?

**Shirabu:** Fuck off, Shitgeru

**Yahaba:** Good night, Shitabu

**Shirabu:** Good night, Shitgeru

When Yahaba dropped his phone on his nightstand, a thought popped up that he couldn’t deny anymore.

_I might have a crush on Shirabu after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boys will be boys.
> 
> Thank you all for reading so far! The fact that people seem to like my story is really motivating and makes me very excited to continue this journey ^^
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it!
> 
> Comments/feedback are very much appreciated :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much once again for reading this! I absolutely love reading your comments, they make my day <3  
> I had a few struggles with writing the past few days so this chapter feels a bit eh to me, but I hope you'll like it nonetheless. Enjoy ^^

A loud beeping noise broke through Shirabu’s slumber, way sooner than he would’ve liked. He moved his hand out from underneath the covers and slammed the snooze button, surprised that the thing was able to manage that act of violence nearly every single day. Well, it’s not like he cared if that device from hell broke down. 

Shirabu pulled his hand back into the warmth of his bed, not intending to move anytime soon. He was very aware that training started in an hour, and he would probably find himself running to school to avoid being late if he didn’t get up soon. But as long as he stayed here, in the darkness of his room, in the cocoon of his covers, he didn’t have to face the world just yet. 

Shirabu liked the idea of not having to face the world for a while. 

His peace was disturbed, however, when his mother barged into his room and opened his curtains wide, bathing the room in the early morning’s sunlight. Shirabu flinched at the sudden change, squeezing his eyes shut and lifting up a hand to shield himself. 

“Get up, Kenjirou, or training will start without you,” she ordered. 

Shirabu grumbled something that sounded awfully like ‘fuck off’ into his pillow.

“What was that?” his mother asked, challenging him to repeat himself. Shirabu knew how his mother hated swearing, but it was not his fault that she came storming in and disrupted whatever peace of mind he had. 

“Nothing,” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, already feeling a headache forming behind the bridge of his nose. 

“Breakfast is ready downstairs,” his mother said, leaving his room without closing the door behind her. _For god’s sake._

While Shirabu changed into shorts and a t-shirt, he couldn’t help but feel a bit glad that his mother had dragged him out of bed. When he was in a mood like this, he was dangerously close to spending all day lying in the exact same spot. And considering how hellish training was becoming in preparation for the Spring tournament, the idea sounded more and more tempting. 

Shirabu dragged himself downstairs, tugging his sports bag behind him like it was trash he needed to take out. He peeked into the kitchen, and saw a plate of food on the table, ready to be eaten. He checked the coffee pot for any remains of his father’s shot of energy he took every morning before leaving for work. _If there’s no coffee I’m gonna flip my-- oh, we’re good._

After pouring himself some coffee, he sat down at the breakfast table and quickly shoved some food into his mouth. When it was time to leave, he put the leftovers of his breakfast in the fridge, only having been able to eat half of it, and downed his cup of coffee before hurrying outside and locking the door. 

~~~

Shirabu opened the door to the club room, and had to resist the urge to turn around and leave immediately at the thought of having to be stuck with his teammates all morning and afternoon. No offense to his teammates, of course, but having to socially interact with them for hours on end put Shirabu on edge, which didn’t really help because he already was on edge.

“Morning,” he mumbled out of habit, walking to an empty corner where he could change in peace. 

“Good morning, Kenjirou-kun,” Tendou greeted, waving. “You sure look cheerful today.”

Shirabu barely acknowledged him with a glance before pulling his training clothes out of his bag. While he pulled his t-shirt over his head to switch it, he heard Tendou whisper to Semi. “Is he okay?”

Semi made the ‘I-don’t-know’ sound, not looking up from lacing his shoes. “You’re probably better off not asking him about it, though.”

“I can hear you,” Shirabu said, his voice sounding more monotonous than he thought it would. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

“Jeez, stingy much?” Semi snapped. “Can’t we be worried about you, you know, like good teammates would be when someone entered the clubroom looking like they want to fling themselves off a cliff?”

“I don’t look like that,” Shirabu merely said, internally kicking himself for showing too much. Had it been that obvious? “And I don’t need people worrying about me.”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Semi-san, I live on four hours of sleep, a cup of coffee and a shit ton of spite. Don’t try me,” Shirabu interrupted him, digging into his bag to find his sports tape. His fingers wouldn’t live to see the next day if he didn’t tape them up before he started training.

The frustrated sounds coming from Semi said enough about what he thought about that reply. Shirabu focused on winding tape around his fingers, not deeming his teammates worthy of a second glance.

“Eita, leave him be,” Tendou tried to calm Semi. “He’ll figure things out on his own.”  
Semi started protesting, but at that moment Ushijima entered the clubroom, and everyone fell silent. 

“Good morning,” Ushijima greeted, gaining some mumbled responses from his teammates and a cheery ‘hello!’ from Tendou.

Shirabu decided he didn’t feel like dealing with people anymore, so he grabbed what he needed from his bag and left the club room without another word. As soon as he closed the door, he could already feel his teammates asking each other about his behaviour. _What’s up with him? He seems very grumpy today. Better not piss him off._

It wasn’t like Shirabu disliked his teammates. Hell, they were probably the closest things to real friends he had. He trusted them when they were playing, and they seemed to trust him. They got along just fine.

But they stuck their noses in Shirabu’s business more often than he’d like. And if he seemed like a dick for telling them off, then so be it.

Shirabu strided towards the entrance of the gym, sitting down beside it to finish off taping in his fingers. He let the feeling of the sun warming his face and the wind ruffling his hair calm him down, trying to gain as much energy as he could. This is going to be a long, long day.

Shirabu heard his phone vibrate in the pocket of his training jacket, and he pulled it out, having forgotten he put it there. He raised his eyebrows when he noticed Yahaba had sent him a message, and opened it curiously. 

**Yahaba:** Do you wanna hang out today? I’m bored

Part of Shirabu was surprised he wanted to spend time with him for a second time, despite the fact that he’d told him they should hang out again one day. Another part wondered if Yahaba didn’t have better things to do than hang out with someone like Shirabu.

Shirabu stopped his train of thought before it could go off on a tangent why someone like Yahaba actually liked Shirabu, of all people.

**Shirabu:** Can’t, have training in a minute

Yahaba replied almost immediately. 

**Yahaba:** You have training on a Monday?

**Shirabu:** Yeah? Don’t you?

**Yahaba:** ...No

**Shirabu:** Lucky you

**Yahaba:** Wanna meet up after training, then?

Shirabu considered it for a second. On one hand, he liked being around Yahaba, because it didn’t seem as draining as it was being around other people. He liked messing with him and bantering with him.

On the other hand, training was going to exhaust him, on top of the exhaustion he was already carrying. He was going to be completely drained. And drained people were not exactly a joy to be around. Besides that, right now Shirabu wanted nothing more than to crawl back to bed and sleep for a century, and training would only reinforce that mindset. 

In short, he was not going to be able to handle Yahaba, and in return Yahaba wasn’t going to be able to handle him. Which made him a burden.

**Shirabu:** I’m going to have to pass, sorry

Shirabu hoped that this wouldn’t ruin his chances of hanging out again someday, even though he knew for a fact that that probably wasn’t the case.

**Yahaba:** That’s fine

**Yahaba:** Are you okay?

“What are you doing, just sitting around and texting? Training’s starting,” someone said. Shirabu, unfortunately, would recognize that voice anywhere. 

“Don’t you have your own business to mind, Goshiki?” he retorted. God, his voice couldn’t sound more robot-like even if he wanted it to. He glanced up at Goshiki, who looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite identify, and sighed.

“But I’m coming, if that’s what you wanted to know,” Shirabu added, and that seemed to satisfy Goshiki. He nodded and entered the gym while Shirabu stood up, brushing some dirt of his pants. 

**Shirabu:** Training is starting, got to go

Something in Shirabu was glad he had an excuse not to answer that impossible question. He turned off his phone and put it back in his jacket pocket. Then he stepped inside the gym, dropped his jacket onto the nearest bench, and hoped no one would mess with his stuff as he warmed up. 

Save for the exercises that involved multiple people, Shirabu mostly kept to individual training, polishing his serves and sets and working on his stamina. When Goshiki asked him to set for him, wanting to work on his ‘super straight’, he tried to shut down his mind as much as he could without letting his setting suffer in the process. They kept going until Shirabu demanded a break, insisting that if he didn’t his fingers would shatter. Goshiki pointed out he was being dramatic, and Shirabu deadpanned that if he didn’t stop him, Goshiki would keep practicing until it was time to close up. 

“Not everyone has the motivation and drive you have,” Shirabu said, making his way to where he left his jacket. “Besides, you shouldn’t overwork yourself. You might think you still have energy now, but if you continue it will bite you in the ass later.” _Believe me, I speak from experience._

Goshiki started to protest, but then seemed to realize the truth behind Shirabu’s words. “Maybe you’re right. Jeez, I didn’t know you had the capability to be nice.”

“Don’t make me change my mind and kick your pathetic ass, Goshiki,” Shirabu grumbled, sitting down on the bench. “Now leave me alone, I need some peace and quiet.”

Goshiki huffed, then went to join some of his first-year teammates, who were sitting in a circle on the ground, sipping from their bottles of water. Shirabu leaned his head against the wall behind him, closing his eyes and exhaling through his nose. He felt like if he sat still for long enough, he could fall asleep right there, even in a relatively uncomfortable position like that. _Why did I decide to come to training again?_

Keeping his eyes closed, Shirabu started massaging his fingers, trying to work some of the tension and exhaustion out of it. He still had a few hours to go before training ended, and he didn’t like the idea of not being able to use his hands after that.

“Shirabu,” someone said, and he slowly opened his eyes to see Semi standing in front of him, extending his hand and offering Shirabu a water bottle. He accepted it with a mumbled ‘thanks’ and took a few sips. Something in Shirabu’s chest constricted when Semi took a seat beside him. 

“Before you say anything,” Semi started, not meeting Shirabu’s gaze, “I know it’s none of my business, and I should probably stay out of it for both our sakes. But I notice what kind of.. moods you can get into, and I notice your tendency to throw yourself into training with no regards to your health when you’re in one of those moods.”

Semi sighed, shifting on the bench. Then he looked Shirabu in the eye. “I just want you to be careful. As much as I’d love getting my starting spot as a setter back, the team needs you to be there on the court. And that can’t happen if you start to self-destruct.”

Semi lifted a hand and gently -- _too_ gently -- patted Shirabu’s shoulder. “I know you’d rather solve your problems on your own, but please let us know if there’s anything we can do to help. That’s what teammates.. that’s what _friends_ are for.”

Shirabu looked away, trying to blink away the tears stinging in his eyes. _Fuck. I’m being a burden again. They noticed, and now they’re worrying. Are you happy now?_

“Fuck,” Shirabu cursed, out loud this time. His voice sounded surprisingly steady. “This is exactly why I shouldn’t be captain.”

“Captain? What do you mean?” Semi asked, trying to catch Shirabu’s gaze. Shirabu kept staring straight ahead.

“I assumed you knew,” Shirabu said. “Ushijima-san told me he wanted me to be captain next year.”

“When?”

“About two weeks ago.”

Semi hummed in comprehension. “And why do you think you shouldn’t be captain?” 

“Because I’m..” _Unlikeable. Passive. Annoying. Depressed._ “Unstable,” Shirabu finished, the word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “I can’t lead the team. Not like Ushijima-san can.”

“No one can lead the time like Ushijima can,” Semi pointed out. “He does it his way, and you do it your way. You don’t have to be like him.”

“But what makes _me_ a good captain?” Shirabu exclaimed, exasperated, turning to glare at Semi. “I just don’t see it. Why me?”

“Well…” Semi thought it over. “I don’t know Ushijima’s reasoning, of course. But I can see why.”

Shirabu just looked at him with raised eyebrows, urging him to continue. 

Semi shook his head slightly, rolling his eyes. “You’re collected on the court, despite being hotheaded outside of it. You calmly assess the situation before making decisions. You face challenges head-on, without hesitation. Those are great qualities, Shirabu.”

Shirabu ducked his head, trying to mask the blush creeping up on his cheeks. _That doesn’t sound like me at all. Am I really like that?_

Semi smiled. “For someone who curses more than he talks, I didn’t think you’d be so insecure.”

“Fuck off,” Shirabu replied, only proving Semi’s point. Semi laughed beside him. 

“But,” Shirabu continued, “thank you. That.. that helped.”

“It’s nothing,” Semi shrugged. “Isn’t that what teammates do?”

“Honestly, I thought you hated me,” Shirabu confessed. “For taking your starting position as a setter.”

Semi hummed. “Well, if I’m honest, I did hate you because of that. I’m sure you can imagine the frustration.”

Shirabu nodded, his fingers starting to fidget with the tape around them.

“I couldn’t believe a disrespectful brat like you had more right to be on the court than I did. No offense,” Semi added. 

“None taken.” Shirabu was very much aware he was a brat. Sometimes he liked being one, too. Did that make him a bad person?

“But,” Semi went on, “I understand why I was replaced. The team, as it is now, needs your talents more than it needs mine. And as long as we continue to win, I’m at peace with that.”

Semi glanced at the clock, then got to his feet. “I think we should get started again, or else Coach will yell at us. Are your fingers okay?”

Shirabu quickly inspected them, then stood up. “They’ll survive.”

“Then let’s go.”

Semi turned to walk away, but Shirabu grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. Semi raised his eyebrows. “What’s the matter?”

“What you said earlier,” Shirabu said hesitantly, trying not to think about _what_ exactly he’d told him, or his emotions would go into overdrive again. He kept his eyes on the floor as he continued. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

He let go of Semi’s wrist, and he felt Semi’s eyes on him as he waited for a response. He noticed Semi move towards him, and for a moment he feared Semi was going to hug him. Then he felt a hand clap on his back, and he nearly doubled over from the impact. 

“Dude,” Shirabu forced out, repressing the urge to cough. “What the fuck.”

Semi smiled, and went on his way, rejoining his teammates. Shirabu watched Tendou wrap an arm around Semi’s shoulders, and Semi shrugging him off. Ushijima commented something, and they all laughed. And then Shirabu thought that maybe his teammates didn’t mind that he was a burden. That he was allowed to be a burden from time to time. As long as he picked himself back up again. 

Shirabu closed his eyes, and smiled. _Maybe this day isn’t so bad after all._

~~~  
It was drizzling when Shirabu made his way towards the playground. He turned his face towards the sky, relishing the feeling of the rain on his skin. He felt his hair slowly stick to his forehead, and he buried his hands in the pocket of his jacket to prevent them from turning cold. 

Shirabu wasn’t exactly expecting it, but when he saw Yahaba sitting on that bench underneath the tree, just like he’d found him once before, he wasn’t surprised. It was like something in him unclenched when he noticed him, staring straight ahead, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. 

Shirabu didn’t know what it was, but in a way Yahaba was different from anyone else. His intentions were pretty easy to read, and while some things were still a mystery to Shirabu, it felt like Yahaba’s actions were sincere in a way he couldn’t describe. He was easy to talk to, to banter with, and Shirabu, somehow, always felt a bit lighter when he was around.

Yahaba was safe. Like an umbrella that protected him from the rain, or a jacket that kept him warm. 

“Strange how I always find you here,” Shirabu said, walking up to Yahaba, who jumped and looked up. “Are you sure you’re not stalking me?”

Yahaba seemed to relax a little, smiling softly. “I had nothing to do,” he offered as an explanation. 

Shirabu went to sit beside Yahaba, dumping his sports bag on the ground and running a hand through his hair. 

“How was training?” Yahaba asked, letting his feet slip to the ground and folding his hands in his lap. 

“Not as hellish as I’d expected it to be, surprisingly,” Shirabu responded. He fingered the tape around his fingers and stifled a yawn. 

“Tired?”

“Yeah.” Now that Shirabu thought about it, he was completely and utterly drained, like he’d expected himself to be. And yet, he didn’t feel like going home to sleep. Yahaba’s presence was soothing in it’s own special way, and Shirabu didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

That thought didn’t stop Shirabu’s eyelids from drooping, though. _Fuck. Not now._

“Maybe you should go home,” Yahaba said, catching Shirabu’s gaze and looking at him worriedly. “You look like you’re going to topple over.”

 _Not yet_. “I’m fine,” Shirabu insisted. “Did you do anything fun today?”

“Not really,” Yahaba mumbled. He chewed on his lip, which probably meant he was thinking about other things. Shirabu didn’t think he was even aware of that habit.

Shirabu started pulling on the tape around his fingers, just to keep his mind occupied and his eyes open. _If only I had some coffee right now._

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Yahaba asked suddenly. 

“Why do you ask?” Shirabu said, keeping his eyes on his fingers. He knew perfectly well why Yahaba asked, but that didn’t mean he was going to give in so easily. Yahaba didn’t need to know about his fucked up sleeping habits. Shirabu knew for sure Yahaba would freak out if he told him, which was going to make him worry, and if there was one thing Shirabu didn’t need it was people _worrying_ about him.

“Because you look like you’re going to collapse any second now,” Yahaba said, sounding annoyed. 

Shirabu didn’t react, kept tugging at the tape. Again his knuckles were a bit swollen. He wondered how he’d survive tomorrow’s training if his hands were like this after just one day. 

“Okay, that’s it,” Yahaba snapped, standing up. “I’m taking you home. You can’t stay here like this, you need to get some rest. Where do you live again?”

“I think not, Shitgeru,” Shirabu said. “Since when are you my mother?”

“Since you need one, apparently. Come on,” Yahaba urged, grabbing Shirabu’s wrist and tugging at it, trying to get him to stand. 

Shirabu pulled his wrist back. “Leave me be. Why do you care anyway?”

Yahaba frowned. “Because I’m your friend.” _Obviously_ , his eyes seemed to add.

_Oh, right._

“I don’t want to go home yet,” Shirabu admitted, rubbing his hands together. _Who knows what’ll happen when I get back to my room, when I’m by myself. When I start_ thinking.

Yahaba put his fingers to his mouth, thinking. Shirabu watched him, and before he knew it the word _cute_ shot through his mind. He internally slapped himself. _Get your shit together, Shirabu. What the fuck._

“You could stay with me?” Yahaba suggested. Was Shirabu imagining it, or did Yahaba look hopeful? The idea sounded tempting, but Shirabu was sure he’d be a bother. On the other hand, Yahaba suggested it, so that should mean he didn’t mind, right?

“What about, like, clothes and stuff?” Shirabu asked. “No, wait, I could maybe sleep in the clothes I wore during training today..”

“No need,” Yahaba said. “You can borrow something from me.”

“Are you sure?” _Are you sure you want to spend so much time with me? Are you sure I won’t be--_

“Totally,” Yahaba reassured him. 

“All right, then.” Shirabu go to his feet, but remembered something when he spotted his sports bag. 

“Wait, I have training tomorrow at 9 am,” Shirabu said. “Then I can’t stay over--”

“Skip it.”

“What?”

“Skip it,” Yahaba repeated. “You don’t seem in a well enough shape to be training tomorrow anyway.” 

Shirabu rolled his eyes. “You’re such a mom, Yahaba. Besides, don’t _you_ have training tomorrow?”

“I’ll skip training too. I’d rather spend the day with you anyway.”

Yahaba gulped when he realized what he’d actually said, and then his cheeks turned a particularly nice shade of red. Shirabu felt his own cheeks burn as well. 

_Did he mean that?_

Yahaba cleared his throat. “So, um, anyway.. Are you coming?”

Shirabu picked up his sports bag and slung it over his shoulder. No matter the circumstances, spending time with Yahaba sounded more appealing than sulking at home or suffering at training. 

“I’m coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be projecting some of my struggles onto Shirabu and I'm terribly sorry, my child. For those who struggle with depression and don't like to read about it, don't worry, I won't go deep. It just kinda seems fitting, somehow. The next chapter will be more fun I swear >.<
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it! (no really, I have as many feelings about this story as some of you guys do and I'd love to fangirl with you ;3)
> 
> Comments/feedback are very much appreciated :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! Once again, thank you all so much for reading and kudo-ing (?) and commenting! I wish I could reply to all those lovely comments but things would get a bit messy if I did, hehe (that's what my tumblr is for, drop by whenever you feel like it!)  
> I kept feeling like some things were missing in this chapter but I didn't know what to add so.. yeah. Here it is. Enjoy!

While the two of them were making their way towards Yahaba’s place, Yahaba couldn’t stop himself from checking on Shirabu every few seconds, making sure he wasn’t going to fall over. After a while, Shirabu noticed.

“Yahaba, quit it. I’m not going to die,” he deadpanned.

“Sorry,” Yahaba quickly apologized, but kept peeking at Shirabu from the corners of his eyes. _To check on him_ , he told himself. _Not to check him out._

The drizzle from before was starting to become heavier, and Yahaba watched the drops of rain hit Shirabu’s head, trickle down his hair and fall onto his face or his jacket. He felt his chest warm at the sight, and Yahaba tore his eyes away. _Yahaba, your crush is showing._

The past few days Yahaba had been thinking things over, and the more he thought about his feelings, the more obvious it became. He’d been fighting it before, but there was no other explanation for what he felt. It was obvious, and it was awkward, and it was the very embodiment of the word. _Crush._ The force of those feelings crushed him again and again, and he just didn’t seem to be able to get used to it.

To the feeling of his heart jumping in his chest whenever he noticed Shirabu had messaged him. To the sensation of his whole body tingling when he was close to him. To the happiness climbing his lungs and throat like vines when Shirabu laughed.

It was sudden, it was new, it was surprising. And yet, Yahaba couldn’t remember what it was like to feel any other way. As if it was supposed to be like this. 

Shirabu shivered beside Yahaba, and he rubbed his arms with his hands. 

“Cold?” he asked. _Of course he’s cold, dumbass._

Shirabu hummed. “This jacket wasn’t made to withstand rain.”

“We’re almost there. I can give you a hoodie of mine to warm you up when we’re inside,” Yahaba offered. 

“Ah, no, I’m fine. I’ll manage,” Shirabu assured him. 

Yahaba was about to complain when the gentle rain from before suddenly changed into a heavenly downpour, and Yahaba heard Shirabu curse. Without thinking, Yahaba grabbed Shirabu’s wrist and started running. Just one more block until they were safe. 

“Yahaba, what the fuck are you doing?!” Shirabu called out. “Slow down! I don’t like the idea of smacking face-first into the pavement!”

“Hold on,” Yahaba simply said, spotting his house a few buildings away. “Just a little longer.”

“You’re insane!” Shirabu yelled, but his steps didn’t falter. A few moments later they reached the front door, and after fumbling awkwardly with his keys, Yahaba all but threw it open and tugged Shirabu inside. The door swept shut, and for a moment the only noise was their accelerated breathing and drops of water hitting the floor.

Shirabu’s shoes squeaked when he knelt down to untie his laces. “I believe I mentioned once that I don’t mind the rain. We could’ve just kept walking.”

Yahaba shrugged out of his jacket and threw it over the heater nearby to dry. “I don’t want you to catch a cold or get ill. I figured I should get you out of the wet and cold as soon as possible,” he explained.

Shirabu snorted. “So you’re both my mom and my stalker. Great.” 

Despite the snarky comment, Yahaba noticed a tiny blush creeping up on Shirabu’s cheeks. Something clenched in his stomach, and Yahaba quickly busied himself with his shoes. Shirabu stripped his wet jacket from his arms and frowned down at the t-shirt he wore underneath, having gotten damp from the rain.

“Go wait in the kitchen,” Yahaba said, starting towards the stairs. “I’ll get a towel and something dry for you to wear.”

Yahaba ignored Shirabu’s protests as he took the stairs two at a time and fished a towel from the bathroom. Then he walked to his bedroom and rummaged through his wardrobe, grabbing a hoodie, sweatpants and a pair of socks. He quickly changed into a different pair of sweatpants he had lying around, then hopped downstairs again. 

Shirabu sat at the kitchen island, twiddling his fingers, when Yahaba entered the room. Shirabu took the towel without a word when Yahaba offered it, and started drying his hair and neck. 

“Do you want anything?” Yahaba asked, wanting to have something to do. “A snack? Something to drink?”

Shirabu peeked from underneath the towel. “Coffee?”

“At this hour?” Yahaba frowned, his eyes flitting towards the tiny clock on the oven. 5.10 pm. 

“I mean, unless you want me to fall face-first into my dinner this evening, I suggest you give me some energy,” Shirabu said, taking the towel from his head and balling it up in his hands. He tossed it to Yahaba, who caught it and started rubbing his hair dry. 

“Do I really have to wear all this?” Shirabu complained. It almost sounded like whining, and the thought nearly made Yahaba laugh out loud.  
“Would you rather wear your sticky, rain-soaked clothes?” Yahaba countered, finishing off drying his hair and laying the towel on the counter. 

Shirabu seemed to realise something. He slid from his seat, and fidgeted with the rim of his damp shirt before he spoke, eyes on his hands. 

“Speaking of sticky.. I haven’t taken a shower since training and I feel gross, so could I maybe..” He pointed up, his voice trailing off. 

_I’ve never seen Shirabu this insecure before._

“You want to take a shower here?” Yahaba finished for him. 

“If that’s okay.”

“Of course that’s okay. I’ll ready some things for you, and then I’ll brew your coffee while you clean up.”

Shirabu sighed, his shoulders losing tension Yahaba hadn’t noticed before. Yahaba grabbed the pile of clothing he’d grabbed for Shirabu and lead him upstairs. 

Later, when Yahaba was busying himself with Shirabu’s coffee, he came to the realization that Shirabu was in his house, and that he’d be staying here all night, and possibly the next day too. His heart started thumping loudly at the thought. Okay, so his stupid ass crush was going to its best to make everything awkward, it seemed. Yahaba vowed not to let it do any damage. They were friends now, and pretty good ones at that, and he didn’t want to ruin that.

Yahaba’s train of thought was disturbed when his phone started ringing. He checked the screen for a name before he picked it up. “Mom? What’s up?”

“Hey, sweetie,” his mother greeted. “I’m just calling to let you know I’m not eating at home tonight. A colleage of mine invited me to dinner to celebrate his birthday. Is your father home?”

“Nope,” Yahaba said. “But it’s Monday, so he’s probably out with his friends.”

“Ah, right,” his mother recalled. “Well, I assume you can survive just fine without me.”

“Yeah, I guess. I’m not alone, though, a friend is staying over.”

“You mean the one who was playing games with you last week?”

“..Yeah,” Yahaba admitted. “How did you know?”

“You would’ve given me a name if it was one of your teammates.” A laugh sounded. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine. I’ll see you later this evening.”

“See you,” Yahaba mumbled, then ended the call. 

So his mom stayed out tonight. That meant he and Shirabu were alone for at least a few more hours, maybe more. _Well_ that’s _awfully convenient._

Yahaba shrugged and poured himself some tea. He took a sip the moment he heard Shirabu padding down the stairs. 

“Just so you know,” Shirabu said, entering the kitchen, “I absolutely _despise_ being babied like this and I will find a way to make you regret this.”

“You seem to be in need of babying, though,” Yahaba commented, pushing Shirabu’s mug of coffee to where Shirabu took a seat at the kitchen island. “Do you need sugar or anything?”

“Nah, this is fine, thanks,” Shirabu replied, pulling the mug towards him. 

“Wait, you drink that stuff black?” Yahaba exclaimed, scrunching his nose. “That’s disgusting.”

Shirabu glared at him, and proceeded to lift the mug to his lips, chugging all of it in one go without ever breaking his stare. He slammed the mug down on the counter and raised his eyebrows, challenging Yahaba to say anything.

Yahaba raised his cup of tea to hide the smile forming on his face. “So you’re salty _and_ bitter. Interesting.”

Shirabu rolled his eyes, his fingers toying with the mug in front of him, pushing it around in circles. 

“How do the clothes fit?” Yahaba asked.

Shirabu pulled the cuffs of his hoodie over his fingers. “Great,” he said.

“Oh, just so you know,” Yahaba started, taking a sip from his tea before he continued, “my parent’s won’t be home tonight, so we have to take care of dinner ourselves.”

Shirabu hummed, running his fingertips across the smooth marble of the kitchen island. Then he looked up with a bit of a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Depends on if you’re thinking about ordering pizza for dinner.”

Shirabu grinned, and Yahaba’s heart skipped a beat. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

~~~

“Yahaba.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to explode.”

“As long as you clean up the mess I’m okay with that.”

Yahaba heard Shirabu groan, and he chuckled. They were sprawled on Yahaba’s bed, Yahaba on his stomach with his chin leaning on his folded arms, Shirabu on his back with his feet on Yahaba’s pillow and his right arm dangling from the bed. 

“Seriously though, how did you manage to eat _an entire pizza_?”

“My stomach is an endless void,” Yahaba replied.

“Just like your brain,” Shirabu said without missing a beat.

Shirabu laughed when Yahaba chucked a pillow at him. He caught it effortlessly before it hit his face and shoved it underneath his head. 

“You have too many pillows on your bed,” Shirabu remarked.

“Good for pillow fights,” Yahaba mumbled in his arms.

“You absolute dweeb,” Shirabu said, and Yahaba could almost hear him roll his eyes. “Pillow fight are lame.”

“Oh really?” Yahaba sat up on his knees and reached for a pillow, and Shirabu pulled his legs towards him and threw out his hands to shield himself. 

“Fuck no! Shitgeru, I swear I’m going to puke my guts out if you start shit now.”

Yahaba crawled forward and kept looking Shirabu in the eye as he raised the pillow above his head, a devious smile tugging up the corners of his lips. Shirabu sent him a glare as sharp as a dagger that said _don’t you fucking dare_. 

Yahaba brought the pillow down, his momentum stopping abruptly when the pillow came in contact with Shirabu’s forearms, shielding himself from the blow. A second later Shirabu’s feet hit Yahaba’s abdomen, sending him backward. Yahaba fell back on the bed with a wail, narrowly avoiding crashing into the wall behind him. When he sat up, he saw Shirabu peeking at him from behind the pillow Yahaba had used as a weapon before, the thing now being held up as a shield. 

“You asked for it,” Shirabu simply said. 

Yahaba chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe we should just watch a movie instead.”

Shirabu hummed, agreeing. “If you ever start something like that again I’ll fucking _annihilate_ you,” he added as an afterthought. 

“I have zero trouble believing that,” Yahaba said, sliding off the bed and turning on the tv on the opposite side of the room. “What do you want to watch?”

Shirabu waved his hand dismissively. “You choose. I’m probably going to fall asleep halfway through anyway.”

Yahaba scanned his room, looking for the remote belonging to the tv. “So that cup of black death liquid didn’t help?”

“That black death liquid has saved my life multiple times, don’t you dare talk trash about it like that, you heathen,” Shirabu ranted, a playful tune in his voice masking the venom behind the words. 

Yahaba spotted the remote, grabbed it and jumped back on the bed. He ran through the media options and found Netflix. 

“You okay with Disney?” Yahaba asked, flicking through the movies. 

“Whatever keeps you entertained, dweeb,” Shirabu responded, grabbing some pillows from Yahaba’s bed and positioning them between his back and the wall he leaned against. Yahaba selected Treasure Planet, one of his favourites, and paused it before it was able to start.

“Wait a sec, I’m going to get the guest futon ready for you first,” Yahaba said, getting up again and digging the futon out from underneath his bed. 

“Let me help,” Shirabu started, sitting up, but Yahaba stopped him with a pointed finger. “Stay.”

Shirabu huffed, but didn’t move. Yahaba quickly slipped into his parents room to get some bedding, then went back and knelt down to make Shirabu’s bed. From the corner of his eye he noticed Shirabu fidgeting uneasily with the covers of Yahaba’s bed.

_So Shirabu doesn’t like being taken care of?_

Yahaba stood up and stretched his back. “All done.”

He crawled back on the bed, settling next to Shirabu, and pressed play. He grabbed a fleece blanket from somewhere next to the bed and spread it over the two of them. Shirabu glanced down before raising a teasing eyebrow. 

“That’s gay.”

“Oh, shut it, you.”

Yahaba smiled smugly when, despite his comment, Shirabu pulled the blanket up to his chest and pulled up his legs, wrapping his arms around them. Yahaba sighed and leaned backward, focusing on the movie on front of him. 

During the first half of the movie, Shirabu wouldn’t stop talking. Every few minutes he’d comment on what was happening, asking all kinds of questions, at least half of them -- Yahaba was sure of that -- meant to get on Yahaba’s nerves. At one point Yahaba tried to physically shut him up by pushing a pillow in his face, which resulted in murder threats from Shirabu and fits of laughter from both of them.

The second half, though, was much quieter. Yahaba noticed Shirabu getting drowsy, the lack of sleep catching up to him. He stopped throwing comments around, slumped against the pillows behind him, and every time he blinked it took him longer to open his eyes again. Yahaba turned the volume of the tv down a bit as inconspicuously as he could, making sure the sounds of the movie wouldn’t disturb him in case he fell asleep. He felt Shirabu jab him in his ribs with his elbow, because _of course_ he noticed what Yahaba was trying to do. 

“Looks like coffee can’t save you now,” Yahaba remarked, chuckling softly. 

“Fuck off,” was Shirabu’s reply, but all the possible venom in that comment was erased by his fatigue. 

Yahaba laughed and turned to the screen again. He didn’t have the ability to laugh, however, when he felt Shirabu’s head touch his shoulder about ten minutes later. In fact, Yahaba was sure he stopped breathing at that exact moment. His heart was suddenly beating loudly in his throat, and he couldn’t stop looking at Shirabu’s face, peaceful as he dozed against Yahaba.

Yahaba itched to wrap an arm around Shirabu, wanting to keep him close, but he could think of a thousand different reasons why he shouldn’t. So he just tore his eyes away and kept them on the tv as the movie reached its climax, painfully aware that his friend, the person he happened to have a crush on, was _sleeping on his shoulder_.

The credits rolled on the screen, and Yahaba didn’t dare move. He considered waking Shirabu to urge him to continue in his own bed, but he also knew he didn’t have the heart to disturb the rest Shirabu seemed to need to badly. So there was only one option left. 

Yahaba wrapped his right arm around Shirabu’s back, keeping his head in its spot on Yahaba’s right shoulder. Then he sat up and slid his other arm underneath Shirabu’s knees. With all his might, he lifted Shirabu, pressing him against his chest as he tried to maneuver off the bed without toppling over himself. Shirabu stirred at the movement, but didn’t wake. 

Once off the bed, Yahaba crouched and carefully laid him down on the guest futon. He pulled the covers out from underneath Shirabu’s sleeping body, and tucked him in, hoping he wouldn’t get to warm underneath the covers, considering he was still wearing one of Yahaba’s hoodies. 

Yahaba stood up, taking a few deep breaths and thanking all the gods he knew that Shirabu hadn’t woken up in the process of moving him. He’d either murder him or tease him about it endlessly, and Yahaba wasn’t prepared for that kind of embarrassment. He hopped over to the tv to turn it off, then slid underneath his own covers. 

The curtains let through a soft stream of moonlight, illuminating the floor and part of Shirabu’s face. Yahaba rolled onto his stomach and rested his chin on his arms, taking in the way Shirabu slept, his chest rising and falling gently, his lips parted. Something in Yahaba chanted the word creep over and over, but he couldn’t get himself to look away. It almost felt special to be able to see Shirabu with his defenses down, without those stone-cold walls and sharp glares and witty replies. 

Yahaba felt like the mystery of Shirabu was starting to unravel right before his eyes, and it was fascinating to watch. 

Shirabu stirred, rolling over and burying his face into his pillow, arms wrapping around it. Yahaba smiled, feeling his chest warm at the sight. _How cute._

He moved to lie on his back, folding his arms behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. Tomorrow he was lucky enough to spend another day in Shirabu’s presence. No matter how pathetic or creepy that sounded, he was excited. He would be able to try to deepen their friendship, would able to try letting Shirabu know that he could trust him, no matter what. 

And maybe, just maybe, Shirabu would allow him to look behind those walls he built, one day. It’s not like he wanted to pry into things that weren’t his business, but from where Yahaba stood, it seemed like Shirabu was very lonely behind those walls. Yahaba just wanted him to know that he wasn’t. That Yahaba was there. 

_I want to get to know you. I want to know you from the inside out._

Yahaba knew he was still far away from that goal, but he wanted to give his all to reach it. So he could be a good friend to Shirabu, be there for him when he needed it. Where the urge to reach that goal came from was still a mystery to Yahaba, but now that he was so close, it was hard to ignore. Also, it might have something to do with that crush that was blooming inside of him, squeezing his heart and constricting his lungs. 

Yahaba rolled to his side, and threw one last glance to Shirabu’s sleeping face before he closed his eyes and smiled. 

_Of all the people in the world that could steal my heart, it had to be you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *roll credits*
> 
> I feel you, Yahaba. Crushes are impossible.   
> Next chapter: sleepover shenanigans continue!
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it!
> 
> Comments/feedback are very much appreciated (especially because they're super cute and make my day) ^^


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *posts the next chapter past 1 am, two days late*
> 
> Firstly, I wanted to thank you all again for the comments and kudos, as usual. They mean the world to me! <3  
> Secondly, I wanted to apologize for posting so late ;^;. I'll keep to my schedule again next time!
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this update despite it being late as fuck and also a bit messy ;x

The next morning, Yahaba’s slumber was interrupted by someone bursting into his room.

“Yahaba!” a voice said, hands grabbing his shoulders and shaking him awake. He opened his eyes, blinking, and saw his mother’s worried face. 

“Mom? What--”

“Why aren’t you up yet?” his mother cut him off. “Training starts in half an hour!”

_Training? But--_

_Oh._

“Mom, don’t worry,” Yahaba said, grabbing his mother’s hands and removing them from his shoulders. “Training’s cancelled today. They’re fixing some stuff in the gym or something.”

Yahaba’s lie burned on his tongue, but if he wanted to spend this day in peace, he didn’t really have a choice. Yahaba’s mother straightened and put her hands on her hips. 

“You should’ve told me sooner. I nearly had a heart attack!” she exclaimed, loudly enough for Yahaba to cringe at the sudden sound. _Mom, please._

“Well, I’m off to work. Enjoy your day off, dear.”

She ruffled Yahaba’s hair, then glanced down for a second before leaving the room and gently shutting the door. Suddenly Yahaba remembered that he had a guest, and he quickly rolled over to peek over the edge of his bed. 

Shirabu lay on his stomach, face buried underneath his pillow. The covers of his futon were pushed back to his waist, and a strip of skin -- _Fuck,_ fuck. _Not this, not now_ \-- was visible underneath the hem of his hoodie. Yahaba quickly averted his eyes, feeling his cheeks heat.

Shirabu didn’t move, nor did he give any sign that he was alive. _Did he actually sleep through all that?_

As if Shirabu was able to read his thoughts, his gruffy voice came from underneath the pillow: “Don’t think I wasn’t disturbed by that. It was kind of hard to miss.”

Yahaba blinked, trying to push the guilt of having woken him up out of his mind. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “Phew, I thought you were dead.”

“I am dead,” was the reply, his voice muffled by the pillow. “I must have gone to hell, too, because I’m melting.”

“Aren’t you suffocating underneath that pillow?” Yahaba asked, leaning forward a little. “You need to, like, breathe, right?”

“Dead men don’t need oxygen,” Shirabu said. “I’m managing just fine down here. Nice and dark.”

Yahaba laughed, shaking his head. “You’re such a drama queen. Come on, show your pretty face.”

The realisation of what he said came a second too late, and then Yahaba was blushing furiously, slapping his hand on his mouth as if that somehow could’ve prevented him for blurting that out. _What the fuck? Get your shit together, Shigeru._

Shirabu slowly pulled himself out from underneath his pillow, the action making his hair stick up in all directions, and lifted his head to face Yahaba with a tired frown. 

“Does this look like a pretty face to you?” he asked sarcastically. 

Yahaba took in Shirabu’s face, and, well.. With his hair disheveled, his eyes still half-closed from sleep, his brow slightly furrowed, and with the light spray of freckles on his pink cheeks and slightly scrunched nose, it kind of _was_ a pretty face. 

“It does,” Yahaba responded, trying not to blush again. Shirabu’s eyes widened at the answer, and he turned his face back to the pillow, smiling just slightly. 

“You must still be dreaming,” he remarked, but the words didn’t come out as harsh as Yahaba had expected them to. 

“Did you sleep well?” Yahaba asked, forcing himself not to think about the way Shirabu had leaned against him the day before. _If I keep going like this I’ll be blushing all day long._

_Stupid fucking crush._

“I did,” Shirabu said, almost sounding surprised. “Surprisingly well.”

Yahaba smiled. A big part of him was glad he didn’t decide to wake him up yesterday night after all.

“Although,” Shirabu continued, frowning, “I don’t remember getting in this bed.”

Yahaba’s smile faltered. He opened his mouth to form some kind of explanation when Shirabu shrugged. “Must have forgotten. My memory is some kind of strange bullshit factory anyway.”

“Memory machine broke,” Yahaba blurted out, and Shirabu snorted.

“I didn’t think you’d be a memer, Shitgeru,” Shirabu said, lips pulling up into a grin. 

“You don’t have much of a choice when you’re part of the meme team,” Yahaba explained, gaining him a laugh from Shirabu. 

“That sounds absolutely ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head slightly. 

“Trust me, it is,” Yahaba assured him, lifting a hand to his face as if he was face-palming at the memories, the training sessions filled with laughter and lunacy. “There’s no training without some kind of meme taking over. It’s disastrous.”

“Sounds like more fun than training under the reign of Coach Washijou ‘What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger’ Tanji,” Shirabu remarked, and both boys laughed. 

Yahaba thought back to the day when that phrase first came up. It was only a few weeks back, and yet so much had changed between them since then. There was actual friendship between them now, instead of something strange and unidentifiable. From the moment they’d exchanged numbers, they had been texting nearly every day, talking about school and volleyball, trading friendly insults and foolish banter. It felt like something real, something solid and unchanging, and Yahaba wanted to keep it like that at all costs. 

Which was why that stupid crush was being the biggest fucking nuisance he’d encountered so far.

“Hey Yahaba,” Shirabu started, covering his mouth when a yawn interrupted him. “Did you know your hair looks like a cream puff?”

Yahaba ran his hands through his hair and tugged at the strands, angling his head to the ceiling and groaning loudly. “Why do people _always_ say that? My hair doesn’t look like food!”

Shirabu snickered. “Yahaba. Don’t lie to yourself. It does look like a cream puff.”

Yahaba chucked a pillow at Shirabu’s face and Shirabu laughed again, shielding himself with his hands before the pillow could hit him. 

“Face the truth, Shitgeru!” Shirabu yelled, hurling the pillow right back, and he let out a cheer as the thing hit Yahaba squarely in his face. 

Yahaba sat up on his knees, pushing the covers off him and grabbing two pillows as ammunition. “Okay, now you’re asking for it, you shitty brat,” he said with a grin. 

Shirabu stood up, snatching the pillow he slept on from the futon and holding it in front of him as a shield. Yahaba threw a pillow, and Shirabu stopped it easily. Then Shirabu charged forward, a devilish smirk on his face, swinging his weapon back and then attacking. Yahaba deflected his blow with the other pillow, but Shirabu swung again, this time hitting him in his side. Yahaba lost balance, and when he steadied himself with his hands, Shirabu delivered the final blow that made Yahaba fall back on his bed, defenseless. 

Yahaba attempted to grab a pillow again, but was stopped when Shirabu climbed on top of him, settling his knees on either side of Yahaba’s waist, pinning him to the bed. He lifted his pillow in the air, holding it above his head. 

“Any last words?” he asked, still wearing the devilish smirk. 

Yahaba extended his hand to a pillow near him, but it was just out of reach. He was out of weapons. Thoroughly defeated. 

“So you didn’t exaggerate when you said you’d annihilate me,” Yahaba forced out, panting just slightly. 

Shirabu put the pillow down on Yahaba’s chest, leaning forward and setting his elbows on the pillow. He placed his chin on the palms of his hands and sweetly smiled down at Yahaba, who felt a blush creeping up on his cheeks. 

“Unlike you, I don’t lie, Shitgeru,” Shirabu said. His face was incredibly close, and Yahaba frantically tried not to think about the fact that Shirabu was right on top of him, smiling down at him like he was going to set his house on fire and make him watch. 

“So.. time for breakfast, then?” Yahaba suggested, still not quite having caught his breath. It was kind of hard to breathe with Shirabu’s weight pressing down on him, after all. 

_God, this absolutely_ had _to happen, hadn’t it? Great. Just marvellous._

“Sure thing, Cream Puff,” Shirabu responded, sitting up and removing himself from Yahaba’s body. When Yahaba frowned at the new nickname, Shirabu had the audacity to wink at him. Yahaba wasn’t sure if he was still breathing. 

“Do you need any help with preparing breakfast?” Shirabu asked, sitting down on his futon and checking his phone. He frowned down at the screen for a second before he turned off his phone and chucked it on the pile of covers beside him.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Yahaba said, sliding off his bed and stretching. He made his way towards the door and opened it. 

“You can freshen up in the bathroom if you like, I’ll get started on breakfast,” Yahaba said over his shoulder. He waited until Shirabu responded with a nod and a hum before he closed the door behind him and padded downstairs. 

~~~

Yahaba noticed Shirabu peek into the kitchen just as he set the bowls of food down on the kitchen island. 

“Smells good,” Shirabu commented, walking in and sliding in his seat. He’d switched the hoodie he’d borrowed with the t-shirt he’d had on the day before, but he was still wearing Yahaba’s sweatpants. 

Yahaba pushed a mug of black coffee towards Shirabu. “Here’s your demonic energy shot.”

“Can you not insult coffee every five minutes?” Shirabu grumbled, shooting Yahaba a glare. “It’s not like I’m bashing your bland ass leaf water every time I see it.”

Yahaba pointed a pair of chopsticks at him. “Don’t talk shit about tea like that when your drink is bitter bean water.”

“Do you want burning hot bitter bean water in your face?” Shirabu lifted his mug and threatened to throw the contents in Yahaba’s direction. 

“Just eat your breakfast, Salt Shaker,” Yahaba laughed, taking a seat besides Shirabu and digging into his food. Shirabu watched him for a second before reaching out and grabbing Yahaba’s cup of tea. He brought it to his lips and took a sip, then he scrunched his nose in disgust and set it back down. 

“Blegh. Still disgusting.”

Yahaba just stared at him. “What--”

“I figured I should taste your leaf water first before bashing it,” Shirabu simply said. “Now I have a reason to call it bland ass leaf water.”

“You’re a strange guy, Shitabu,” Yahaba said, lowering his eyes and biting into a piece of omelet. Shirabu rolled his eyes before picking up his chopsticks and starting on his breakfast.

It was silent when the two filled their stomachs, save for the radio playing music in the background on a low volume. The sun was shining brightly, in contrast to the rain from yesterday, and over the music Yahaba could hear the songs of the birds outside.

“So.. what are we going to do next?” Shirabu asked, finishing up the remains of his rice. 

Yahaba lifted his cup to sip his tea, found out he’d already drank all of the liquid, and set it back down with a pout. He gathered his dishes and put them in the sink.

“I could kick your sorry ass in Mario Kart again,” Yahaba suggested, earning him a glare from Shirabu. Yahaba laughed and turned on the tap, starting to clean the dishes. 

Shirabu pushed his used dishes towards Yahaba. “I was pretty good last time considering it was my first time playing. Maybe I’ll kick _your_ ass today.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Yahaba said, snickering. He laughed harder when Shirabu pulled at his hair and groaned in frustration, baring his teeth. Was he out of witty replies? Yahaba waited for a response, but Shirabu just looked at the ground with a grimace. Nothing. Yahaba chuckled once. He almost couldn’t believe he’d outwitted Shirabu.

“I know, I know. _‘I will fight you, Yahaba.’_ Right?” he added, smiling.

Shirabu leaned his elbows on the counter, letting his head hang, his hands still in his hair. “You’re unbelievable,” he sighed. 

_Believe me. So are you._

A song Yahaba liked started playing on the radio, and Yahaba paused his chores to turn up the volume, wiping his hands dry on his sweatpants.

“No, not this song,” Shirabu complained, looking up. “I’ve heard it too many times.”

“A classic song like this can never be heard too many times,” Yahaba said, walking back to the sink with a skip in his step. He started scrubbing Shirabu’s dishes.

“You call _Hey, Soul Sister_ a classic?”

“Can’t you just, like, enjoy the nice things in life?”

“An overhyped song like this is not a nice thing,” Shirabu muttered. 

_“Hey, soul sister. Hey, that mister mister on the radio, stereo. The way you move ain’t fair, you know,”_ Yahaba sang along with a smile, one half of him wanting to bug Shirabu, the other half of him enjoying the cheery air the song brought in the kitchen.

Shirabu watched him with an expression he couldn’t quite identify as he did the dishes, singing and dancing along with the song.

As Yahaba dried off the bowls and cups, his heart squeezed in his chest when the lyrics of the song hit the nail on the head. His voice turned a bit gentler when he continued with the next few lines. 

_“I'm so obsessed. My heart is bound to beat right out my untrimmed chest.”_

He went on, finding himself looking Shirabu in the eye when he sang the last line of the stanza. _“And I'm always gonna wanna blow your mind.”_

Shirabu’s eyes went wide, and he averted his gaze. A blush crept up his cheeks, which caused Yahaba’s face to flush as well. He stopped singing, quickly finishing off his chore and putting the clean dishes back in the cupboards. 

The song came to an end, and a different tune started playing. Yahaba went to turn off the radio, and then made his way to the door. 

“Are you coming? I still need to beat you at a certain stupid game,” he said over his shoulder, trying to erase the weird silence that hung between them. 

Shirabu slid from his seat and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, walking over to him. “Yeah,” he mumbled, not quite looking Yahaba in the eye. 

_I didn’t fuck up, did I?_

When Shirabu passed Yahaba, he added, “you have a nice voice, by the way.” 

And Yahaba might have imagined it, but he could’ve sworn Shirabu’s cheeks turned bright red after those words left his lips. Shirabu took the stairs two at a time, head ducked between his shoulders. Yahaba followed him wordlessly, feeling something he couldn’t quite identify clench in his chest. 

_You’d better not get your hopes up now, Shitgeru._

~~~

After freshening up in the bathroom and changing into different clothes, Yahaba joined Shirabu in his bedroom. Shirabu was lying on his futon, ankles crossed, arms folded underneath his head, eyes watching the ceiling. 

“You okay?” Yahaba asked, turning on the tv and grabbing the Wii controllers. “We can do something else if you don’t want to play Mario Kart.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine,” Shirabu sighed, closing his eyes. “I’m fine, just doing some thinking.”

“Okay then,” Yahaba said, switching on the Wii and setting some things up. 

_What’s going on in that mind of yours?_

Yahaba crouched down next to Shirabu’s futon, offering him a controller. “Thinking time’s over, pal. Time to play,” he said, smiling. 

Shirabu’s eyes flew open, focused on Yahaba’s face, then the controller in front of him. Then he smiled, sitting up and accepting the controller. “You’re right. Thinking sucks, anyway.”

They both made themselves comfortable on Yahaba’s bed with pillows and blankets to spare. This time, though, Yahaba noticed Shirabu scooting a little closer than he usually did, making their shoulders touch. Yahaba tried not too think too much of it, but his heart fluttered at the touch nonetheless. 

“All right,” Yahaba said, hovering over the courses. “You want to start easy or get right into the suffering?” He pointed at Rainbow Road. 

“Just get it over with,” Shirabu muttered, making Yahaba chuckle. He selected the course, and when the race started, Shirabu started yelling and cursing almost immediately. 

“I was sure I nailed this the last time,” Shirabu ranted, trying to steer his kart in a somewhat straight line. He cursed when he nearly got pushed off the track.

“Looks like I’m going to kick your ass after all,” Yahaba snickered, advancing to first place easily. 

“I’m going to murder you, Shigeru,” Shirabu said coldly, baring his teeth as he tried to force himself up through the ranks. He managed to pass two of his opponents and cheered. 

“No Shitgeru this time? I’m honoured,” Yahaba remarked. He cursed when a red shell hit him and he fell back to second place. 

“I just thought it’d be nice for you to hear your first name one last time before I bury you alive-- Agh, mother _fucker_!” Shirabu exclaimed as one of the karters shoved him off the track. “Did you see that? That dipshit just pushed me off!”

Yahaba snickered, and Shirabu elbowed him in his ribs. “That’s not funny!”

“Trust me, it’s hilarious. Did you really think you could beat me?” Yahaba taunted him. 

“Fucking watch me,” Shirabu hissed through his gritted teeth, trying his best to catch up. “The first round isn’t even over yet.”

The game continued, and Yahaba couldn’t believe his eyes when Shirabu bombarded him a few inches from the finish during the third round, and managed to pass him before he could cross it. He was also turning deaf because of Shirabu’s victory yelling.

“WHOSE ASS IS GETTING KICKED NOW, SHITGERU?” Shirabu shouted, cheering and laughing. Yahaba joined his screaming, pulling at his hair in frustration. 

“That’s not fair!” Yahaba yelled. “I was almost there! And then you just _fucking_ \--”

He threw his controller down on his bed and whacked Shirabu with a pillow, the boy beside him still losing it. 

“This is the best day of my life,” he cried, trying to shield himself with his hands from Yahaba’s petty attacks.

“I want a rematch,” Yahaba demanded, contemplating hurling the pillow at the tv, then thinking better of it and laying it down beside him. “I’m sure you can’t win a second time.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Shirabu said, that wicked grin of his only fuelling Yahaba’s rage.

They continued like this, playing game after game, rematch after rematch, yelling and cursing and hurling creative insults at each other. At one moment Yahaba had to pause the game, not being able to stop laughing when Shirabu had called him a ‘moldy ass banana peel’. Five minutes later he had to pause it again because Shirabu tried to strangle him for targeting him relentlessly with his items. 

Yahaba decided to call it quits when Shirabu started attacking him with pillows for winning three times in a row. Although that only pissed Shirabu off more.

“What, you chicken out now? Not even granting me one more chance to completely crush you to dust?” Shirabu hit him over and over, a pillow in every hand. “You’re a coward, Yahaba. A big fat coward.”

Yahaba grabbed Shirabu’s wrists, carefully disarming him. “If only you were this competitive during volleyball games,” he said, gathering their controllers and putting them back where they belonged. He switched off the Wii and the tv before turning back to Shirabu, who eyed him with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest.

“I _am_ this competitive during games,” Shirabu insisted. “But if I started yelling and cursing like I did just now I’d get sent straight to the bench.” He snorted. “I wouldn’t want to give my opponents that kind of satisfaction.”

Yahaba smiled, putting his hands on his hips. “I hope you can show me that competitiveness during the Spring tournament. The first prelims start in two weeks or so, right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Shirabu said. Then he stood up from the bed and offered Yahaba his hand. 

“Let’s meet in the finals.”

Yahaba shook Shirabu’s hand without hesitation.

“Deal.”

~~~

Later that afternoon, just after lunch, Yahaba and Shirabu were hanging in Yahaba’s room, both doing their own thing. Shirabu was lying on his futon again, hands placed loosely on his stomach as he listened to some music from his phone with headphones borrowed from Yahaba. He had his eyes closed, and sometimes he seemed to get so lost into the melodies that he hummed along for a while, before catching himself and awkwardly clearing his throat.

_You have a nice voice, by the way._

Yahaba sat cross-legged on his bed, trying and failing to read a book he’d planned on reading for a while. He got only a few paragraphs in before Shirabu started humming again, or before Shirabu moved his hands or yawned, and Yahaba’s eyes seemed to want to catch every moment. Then he caught himself, slapped himself internally across his face and went back to the book he was reading. 

Rinse and repeat.

After a few more tries, Yahaba slapped his book shut, frustrated. Crushes were supposed to just kind of disappear after a while, right? _Hurry the fuck up, then._

Then Yahaba spotted his guitar, tucked behind his wardrobe.

_I’d love to hear you play someday._

Yahaba got up from his bed and gently lifted the instrument from its stand. He brought it back to his bed and rested the thing on his knee, placing his fingers on the strings in a way that felt familiar. Shirabu opened his eyes, then sat up and removed the headphones from his ears.

“Are you going to play something?”

Yahaba tested the sound of the strings, adjusting things a little here and there. “Just trying things out. I haven’t played in a while.”

Yahaba improvised a little, trying out pitches and tunes, letting his feelings guide him. His fingers moved back and forth, and his head swayed a little with the sound he was creating. It sounded cheery and playful, and after a minute he ended his little song with a smile on his lips. 

He glanced at Shirabu, who looked back at him with curious eyes. _Go on, continue_ , they seemed to say. 

So Yahaba continued. 

A song he liked popped up in his head, and after making some adjustments he strummed a familiar tune. When he got used to the motions, he started to sing the first stanza. 

_“Woke up starin' at this, starin' at this empty room_  
Looked at thousand different pictures that your mother took of you  
You see I had this crazy dream last night, this man he talked to me  
He told me everything that's good and bad about my history.” 

Yahaba lifted his eyes from his finger’s movement on the strings. Shirabu was watching him intently, head slightly cocked to the side, mouth slightly opened.

Yahaba smiled at him and sang the next few lines. 

_“But he said that you are, you are the future_  
He said that you are, you are the future  
And the future looks good.” 

Yahaba strummed louder, adding a bit more depth to the music. 

_“The future looks good.”_

He went on for a bit longer before he softened the sound, creating an ending where the song would have continued otherwise. The last tunes faded out, and then there was only silence. A few seconds ticked by before Shirabu leaned back and smiled at him. He needed no words to convey what he thought. The smile was enough. 

If there was any kind of nervousness or pressure in Yahaba’s chest due to having to perform for someone, it faded away right that instant. Yahaba shifted on his bed, took a deep breath, and started playing again. Old songs he learned when he was younger, newer ones he’d taught himself later on, original songs he made up on the spot by just letting his fingers lead him wherever his heart was taking him. 

Shirabu let himself drop backwards on his futon, folding his arms under his head and closing his eyes, focusing on the music Yahaba created. He smiled softly, and Yahaba smiled in return, even though Shirabu didn’t notice. 

The air in the room was comfortable and sweet, and playing music like this felt like the most natural thing in the world. Warm sunlight filtered through the windows and touched Yahaba’s face and bare arms as he played and hummed along. 

“Yahaba,” Shirabu said softly, as if not daring to disturb Yahaba’s music, and Yahaba paused his humming. “I’m glad I skipped training for this.”

Yahaba laughed, feeling his chest warm from something other than the rays of the sun, and continued humming.

_I never want to leave this moment._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yahaba is such a babe. Watch out, Shirabu.  
> Also, boys are still being boys and I love writing them fooling around.  
> Also, how to write song lyrics?? What is writing, really.
> 
> I kinda dislike this chapter because it feels so useless?? I want to get to the good stuff bc I've got some things planned but I also don't want to rush it, ya feel? So I kinda made this up as I went and it feels awkward and messy ugy. The struggles of being a multichapter fic writer, y'all. 
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it! (aka fangirl with meee)
> 
> Feedback/comments are very much appreciated :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *comes running in at 1 am* Yes I'm on time!
> 
> Once again, thank you all so much for the kudos and comments! They make my day every single time <3  
> Before we start I want to share this awesome fanart made for this fic: http://foxyenaarts.tumblr.com/post/162813213265/for-of-all-the-people-in-the-world-by-chuuchuuyaa  
> Again thank you so much to the person who made this, actually having someone make fanart for my fic is making me go !!!!!! inside.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this update!

“Good morning, Yahaba-chan,” Oikawa called when Yahaba entered the club room. He sounded awfully cheerful, considering it was nine in the morning.

“Good morning,” Yahaba responded, somewhat awkwardly. He walked over to an empty corner and began changing into his gym clothes. 

“Say,” Oikawa began, running a hand through his hair nonchalantly. He pinned Yahaba down with a curious look, and Yahaba’s stomach dropped.

“Care to explain why you were absent during training yesterday?”

Yahaba scrambled for an excuse, but couldn’t find anything that didn’t sound obviously made up. “Ah, um, I was.. I had..” he stammered, averting his gaze and rubbing his neck. Oh boy.

“I’m not angry, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Oikawa continued, bowing over to tie his shoelaces. The constriction in Yahaba’s chest loosened a little. 

“I understand if you want to skip sometimes if that.. suits your plans better. Volleyball is nothing more than an extracurricular activity, after all.”

Oikawa straightened up, locked eyes with Yahaba, and smiled a smile that sent shivers down Yahaba’s back. 

“But, please let me know next time you decide to stay home, alright? That would make things a whole lot easier.”

Yahaba blushed, and he bowed slightly, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Yes, captain.” 

Somehow this made him feel more guilty than if Oikawa were to get angry at him for skipping practice, especially now that the Spring tournament preliminaries were getting close. The calm with which his captain dealt with this inconvenient situation was straight up terrifying.

“Good! I’m glad we sorted this out,” Oikawa said, walking over to him to clap him on his shoulder. “But keep in mind that I do expect you to go all out during training today to catch up on what you missed, hmm?”

“Yes, captain,” Yahaba repeated, peeking up at Oikawa’s face through his eyelashes, head still lowered. Oikawa smiled again, and squeezed Yahaba’s shoulder before gathering his stuff and leaving the clubroom. Before the door closed, Oikawa looked over his shoulder.

“Come help me set up the courts when you’re done changing,” he said, more an order than a request. Yahaba nodded, and Oikawa shut the door behind him. Yahaba exhaled, dragging a hand across his face. _Remind me not to piss him off for real, ever._

He quickly finished off changing, and checked his phone for messages. He didn’t expect anything, but his heart sunk a little nonetheless when he saw no notifications. He put his phone in the pocket of his jacket and made his way to the door just as it swung open. 

“Hey, you’re back,” Kindaichi said, getting into the club room. “Where were you yesterday?”

“Somewhere else,” Yahaba replied, hoping Kindaichi wouldn’t question it further. 

“Well, I mean, obviously,” Kindaichi deadpanned, setting his bag down and bending over it. He grabbed his shoes and his gym clothes and started changing.

“I should get going,” Yahaba said, pointing at the exit with his thumb. “Oikawa-san asked me to help him out.”

“Sure thing,” Kindaichi said, not looking up. “See you in a bit.”

Yahaba nodded, then went over to the door. Before he closed it behind him, he heard Kindaichi speak up again. “Was he mad at you?”

“Who, Oikawa-san?” Yahaba asked. When Kindaichi didn’t correct him, he went on, “No, he wasn’t. Actually, he was the opposite of mad. It was frightening.”

Kindaichi laughed. “Well, just so you know, you didn’t miss much yesterday. Just tons of boring and exhausting drills. I can still feel them in my muscles.”

“Poor you,” Yahaba chuckled. Kindaichi rolled his eyes, and Yahaba laughed again. “But I’m glad. That I didn’t miss anything, I mean. And that you’re still alive,” he added. 

“We’ll see about that after today,” Kindaichi remarked, tying the laces of his shoes. “Now shoo, future captain. Our current captain needs you.”

“Aye aye,” Yahaba said, making a movement that could only be described as a sarcastic salute, and exited the club room.

~~~

“One more, Yahaba!” Watari called from the other side of the net. 

Yahaba was practicing his serves, and after a while Watari had joined in to receive them. If Yahaba were honest, he thought Watari was doing way better than he did. His receives were top notch, as always, whereas Yahaba’s serves were average at best. Despite the fact that they had different positions, it was pretty demotivating nonetheless.

“Let’s see if I can manage to get three in a row!” Watari yelled excitedly. He got into position, bending his knees and holding out his arms.

“Okay, here goes!”

Yahaba bounced the ball on the ground a few times, then took a deep breath and tossed it up in the air. One, two, three steps, and a jump. The ball hit the palm of his hand perfectly, and yet it didn’t go where he aimed it to. 

He got back to the ground and watched as Watari caught his serve effortlessly, sending it back up in the air and into the ball basket standing by the net. Watari cheered, throwing his arms in the air. 

“Nice, Watari!” Yahaba called. While he was glad that his favourite libero was on a roll, it also stung that he wasn’t doing as well. 

“One more, please, Yahaba!” Watari begged. “Maybe I can do that a fourth time!”

Yahaba shook his head. “Sorry, friend, I’m taking a break. Maybe you can ask Kindaichi.”

Watari scrunched his nose. “But that’s not fair, his serves are way too easy to get.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t say that around him,” Yahaba chuckled, at the same time Kindaichi yelled, “I heard that!” from the other side of the gym.

“Uh oh,” Yahaba said, grabbing his water bottle from beside the court and making his way to the bench where he left his jacket. “Have fun facing Kindaichi’s wrath.”

“Hah, Kindaichi has no wrath. He’s too soft for that,” Watari remarked, earning him an offended “Hey!” from the guy in question. 

“Have fun anyway,” Yahaba said over his shoulder, sitting down on the bench and sipping his water bottle. He watched as Kindaichi came over to Watari and started complaining, crossing his arms. Watari said something back, waving a bit with his hands. Then Kindaichi sighed, grumbled something to Watari and walked to the other side of the net, grabbing a ball and getting ready to serve.

Yahaba laughed softly. Watari knew exactly how to get people to do what he wanted. 

He set his bottle down on the ground beneath his feet and fished his phone out of the pocket of his jacket. After flicking it on he saw he had one message from Shirabu, sent about ten minutes ago. 

**Shirabu:** Please tell me I’m not the only one who got in trouble for ditching practice

Yahaba chuckled, quickly typing a reply.

 **Yahaba:** Sorry friend, you’re on your own there. Oikawa-san let me off the hook more easily than I thought he would

Yahaba picked up a towel from nearby and wiped off his face and shoulders. He felt his phone vibrate in his lap as he rubbed the towel over his hands. 

**Shirabu:** Not fair. I had to do ten extra laps around the gym, then hit 50 serves. Do you even have a coach or is it just a never ending party over there?

Just as Yahaba wanted to reply, a song he’d heard a few times before that morning started playing from one of the third years’ phones, held up by Matsukawa as Oikawa entered the gym. The latter whirled around to yell at the group of third years as they started laughing loudly. “Can’t you just stop that? It’s not funny anymore!”

“Actually, it keeps getting funnier,” Hanamaki cried, wiping away a tear Yahaba wasn’t sure was fake or not. 

“You guys are the actual worst,” Oikawa huffed, crossing his arms, as the other guys kept laughing.

Yahaba shook his head, smiling, and started typing.

**Yahaba:** Actually, the third years keep playing a certain song every time our captain enters the room, so you might not be that far off

**Shirabu:** I’m so jealous right now

**Yahaba:** You should’ve gone to Seijoh

**Shirabu:** *flings phone across the room*

Yahaba laughed, and before he could reply another message arrived.

**Shirabu:** Though let’s be honest, if I had come to Seijoh you would’ve been warming the bench nonstop

Yahaba tried not to think about the truth of that statement. 

**Yahaba:** So arrogant, Shitabu

**Shirabu:** Well it’s true, I’m a better setter than you

**Shirabu:** No offense

**Yahaba:** None taken

**Shirabu:** I’m probably better at serves too

**Yahaba:** I’m better at Mario Kart

**Shirabu:** Did you just

**Yahaba:** I just did

“What are you smiling at?” a voice said. Yahaba looked up to see Kunimi standing beside him, a towel around his neck and a water bottle in his hand. 

“Who are you texting?”

“Ah, no one,” Yahaba answered quickly, flicking off the screen of his phone and burying the device underneath his jacket. He felt his cheeks redden slightly. 

Kunimi sent him a suspicious look before deciding that the matter didn’t interest him. He rubbed his face with his towel before dropping it on the bench beside Yahaba. 

“Will you help me with spiking practice in a minute? I want to get the timing of our quicks down,” Kunimi asked, taking a swig from his bottle. 

“Sure,” Yahaba said, standing up. “Go ask Kindaichi too. I still have trouble matching up with him sometimes.”

“All right,” was Kunimi’s reply. He set down his water bottle and walked over to where Kindaichi was still serving for Watari. Yahaba reached for his phone and checked it one last time.

**Shirabu:** Well, have fun at your party, dweeb. I’m going to do some real training. You know, the kind that gets you to nationals

**Yahaba:** Haha, very funny 

**Yahaba:** Have fun. Don’t die

**Shirabu:** Like I told you before

**Shirabu:** I’m already dead

Yahaba rolled his eyes before turning off his phone and putting it back in his jacket. He stood up, stretched his arms above his head, and took a deep breath. It had only been a day since their sleepover, but Yahaba already missed having Shirabu around. Somehow it was so easy to be himself around him. That feeling of belonging, of safety.. Yahaba wanted to feel that more often.

Yahaba made his way towards where Kunimi and Kindaichi were waiting for him, and prepared himself for another few hours of training. Training that was going to be boring no matter how often Shirabu would call it a party.

~~~

**Shirabu:** Are you going to be at the playground today?

**Shirabu:** Just curious

Yahaba just kept staring at the messages as he walked. Did that mean Shirabu liked being around him? Did that mean he wanted to hang out again, even though they had done that just the day before? Did that mean--

_Don’t get your hopes up._

Yahaba sighed, and concentrated on where he was going, not wanting to relive the moment he ran into a pole once, years ago. After training, Watari had requested to get ramen together, and this time Yahaba agreed to tag along. Kunimi and Kindaichi had also agreed to come, and now the four of them were making their way to their usual ramen place.

“Are you texting that one person again?” Kunimi asked, who was walking in front of him. 

Yahaba quickly pocketed his phone, trying to push down the embarrassment of getting caught again. 

“Which one person?” Watari asked, turning around and walking backwards, facing Yahaba. “You’re not hiding something from us, are you?”

“Of course not!” Yahaba said, a bit too loudly. “Besides, since when is who I’m texting your business?”

“You’re only digging a hole for yourself, Yahaba,” Kindaichi muttered. “Give it up already.”

“Why are we friends again?”

“Because I’m a very likeable person.”

“You may want to rethink that statement.”

“Guys, quit it,” Kunimi snapped, annoyed. “If Yahaba has anything to tell us, he’ll tell us when he wants to.”

“Ah, but I’m curious now,” Watari said, the words almost sounding like a whine. 

“Forget it, Watari,” Yahaba deadpanned. Then he remembered he hadn’t responded to Shirabu’s messages yet, and he pulled out his phone, quickly tapping a reply.

**Yahaba:** Sorry, going to get ramen with friends

**Yahaba:** Maybe tomorrow

Shirabu replied almost immediately.

**Shirabu:** Oh okay

**Shirabu:** Have fun

**Yahaba:** Thanks

**Yahaba:** We can talk later if you want

Shirabu stayed silent, and still hadn’t said anything when Yahaba and his friends entered the restaurant. Yahaba turned off his phone and slid it back into his pocket, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach.

The four boys chose a booth in the back, and after a waitress took their orders easy conversation flowed between them, about school, training, the weather and so on. They made jokes, showed each other videos and pictures they found on the internet, and laughed when Watari sneezed so hard he banged his head on the table in front of him.

It felt natural, and good. And yet it wasn’t the same as hanging out with Shirabu. It just felt different, in a way Yahaba couldn’t describe.

Their orders were brought, and the guys ravenously dug into their ramen, eager to regain the energy they’d spent during training. 

When he was halfway through his meal, Yahaba set his chopsticks down and took a sip from the tea he ordered. He put down the cup and cleared his throat. 

“So there’s this boy--”

“I knew it,” Kindaichi said, slapping the table with his hand, causing the other three to stare at him in confusion. 

“Knew what?” Watari asked. 

“Kindaichi, don’t be weird,” Kunimu sighed.

“Can you just let me finish?” Yahaba exclaimed, exasperated. The others just raised their eyebrows, quietly shoving ramen in their mouths.

“There’s this boy I met a while ago. We’re good friends now--”

“Where did you meet him?” Watari asked, gaining him a glare from the rest of the boys.

“At a playground somewhere. Anyway, the point is--”

“I know where this is going,” Kunimi said, sipping his coffee. 

“DO YOU WANT ME TO CONTINUE OR NOT?” Yahaba yelled. From the corner of his eyes he saw heads turning his way, and he quickly apologized before his attention went back to his friends.

“So, do you have feelings for this mystery guy?” Kindaichi asked, raising one eyebrow. 

Yahaba hid his face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have told you guys. You’re all horrible.”

“But, do you, though?” Watari said. When Yahaba didn’t respond, he went on, “Don’t be mad, Yahaba, we just want to help.”

“And you’re awfully easy to read,” Kunimi added. 

Yahaba sighed in his hands. “If you really want to know, _yes_ , I have feelings for this guy. And I don’t know what to do.”

“Because you want to stay friends with him,” Kunimi guessed, and Yahaba nodded. 

“How did you know?”

“I’ve been in that situation before. It’s painful.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I’m still working it out,” Kunimi responded, and when Yahaba peeked through his fingers he noticed the other boy was blushing just slightly. “So I have no answers for you, sorry.”

“Honestly,” Kindaichi cut in, “I think you should just tell him. Things will only get more awkward if you let those feelings, like, grow and evolve and stuff.”

“I bet he doesn’t even like me that way, though,” Yahaba sighed. “What do I do then?”

“Stay friends, duh,” Watari chimed in. “If he’s really a good friend, he wouldn’t mind.”

“What if he does like you that way, though?” Kunimi wondered.

Yahaba blinked, quickly thinking it over. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really considered that option.”

“Just tell him,” Kindaichi said again. “I bet he’s okay with it no matter how he feels about you.”

“Yeah..” Yahaba said, grabbing his cup of tea and taking a big gulp. The feeling of uncertainty he’d felt before was starting to ebb away. “Thanks, guys.”

“No problem,” all three of them said at the same time. After looking at each other in shock, the boys started laughing. Yahaba felt more and more relieved every second. His friends were a godsend, no matter how annoying they could be sometimes.

“So, what does he look like?” Watari asked, a curious glint in his eyes. “Is he tall? Taller than me?”

“Watari, I hate to break it to you, but a lot of people are taller than you.”

“Go choke, Kunimi.”

“He’s taller than you,” Yahaba answered. “Not taller than me, though.” Yahaba snorted. “I can’t believe I haven’t teased him about it before.”

“So he’s easy to tease?” Kindaichi asked. 

“Kind of,” Yahaba admitted. “But he teases right back, and he plays dirty. He’s also promised to murder me in my sleep more times than I can count.”

“Sounds like someone I’d get along with,” Kunimi remarked.

“Does he play volleyball?” Watari asked excitedly. “Maybe we know him!”

“He doesn’t sound familiar though,” Kindaichi pondered.

Yahaba took a bite of his ramen before he answered. “You might have seen him before.”

“That means we know him,” Kunimi concluded. “Have we played his team before?”

“Yes…” Yahaba was hesitant to continue, even though he was sure his friends wouldn’t judge him.

“Just spit it out,” Kunimi said. “Stop beating around the bush.”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy if I tell you.”

The other boys just eyed him expectantly, and Yahaba sighed.

“He’s the starting setter from Shiratorizawa.”

“WHAT?” Kindaichi and Watari yelled, while Kunimi tried very hard not to choke on his coffee.

“You mean that kid you had a fight with after our last match?” Kindaichi asked, disbelief showing on his features.

“The very same.”

“Hoo, boy,” Watari chuckled. “Oikawa-san would be infuriated if he knew this. Falling for the setter of the enemy team.”

“Can you guys stop making a big deal out of this?” Yahaba asked, stuffing his face with the remains of his ramen.

“You made a big deal out of it,” Kunimi forced out in between coughs. Kindaichi gently pat his back a few times until he caught his breath. 

“I can see why you’re attracted to him, though,” Watari hummed. “That guy is the saltiest person I’ve ever seen. He matches you.”

“I’m not salty,” Yahaba insisted, glaring when he poured the last few sips of tea into his mouth.

“Point proven.”

“It’s getting late,” Yahaba said, standing up, efficiently cutting off the conversation. “I’m heading home. Thanks for inviting me along.”

“Anytime,” Watari chimed, making a peace sign at him. 

“Yahaba,” Kindaichi called out as Yahaba slid out of the booth. “I know we’re joking about it a lot, but we do hope things will end up well between you and that guy.”

“We’re rooting for you,” Kunimi added, catching Yahaba’s gaze and smiling slightly.

“Go get him!” Watari cheered, throwing his fist into the air.

Yahaba smiled, feeling his chest warm. He turned to the restaurant’s exit. “Thanks, guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Kindaichi said, and Yahaba looked over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows.

“Did you skip training yesterday to hang out with him?”

Yahaba blinked, dumbstruck. Then he smiled, winked, and hurriedly walked out the door of the restaurant before his face finished turning beet-red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watari is actually the most adorable person ever. 
> 
> I wanted to say "boring filler chapter is boring" but I actually started having fun in the middle of it so maybe it's not so bad. I hope I can make more exciting things happen next time though. I also barely edited this because I was lazy and tired so I apologize if there are any mistakes, heh.
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it!
> 
> Comments/feedback are very much appreciated (bc I absolutely love hearing from you guys!!)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for being this late, life was being difficult ;^;
> 
> Thank you all once again for the kudos and comments!! I wish I could frame them and put them on my wall so I could stare at them forever (because that's not creepy nooo~)
> 
> Honestly, I'm starting to hate this chapter with a passion because a lot of things about it bug me and I didn't feel like trying to fix it because everything feels messy. But here, have it anyway.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this update :)

Yahaba plopped down on one of the benches in the club room, leaning his head against the wall behind him, still panting slightly. Training today had been absolutely savage, nothing but drills meant to kick up your heartbeat and make you feel every single muscle in your body. Yahaba quickly changed back into his normal clothes, fearing that if he sat still for too long, he’d be glued to the bench. 

“Hooo boy,” Watari said beside him, wiggling himself back into his jeans. “One week left till the first prelims! I’m so excited!”

“I feel nothing but joy,” Kindaichi deadpanned from across the room. “Don’t you ever feel pressure?”

“Don’t be like that, Yuutarou,” Watari hummed, “you’re still a first-year. Nothing to stress about.”

“But that’s the thing!” Kindaichi said, forcefully pulling his t-shirt over his head. “I still have two more years to play, but for the third-years this is their last official game. I have to do the best I can to make sure they can play as long as possible. It’s my job as a first-year with a starting spot.”

“That brings tears to my eyes, Kindaichi-kun,” Hanamaki commented, just having stepped into the club room. “But we can fend for ourselves. We haven’t trained this hard for nothing.”

“We’re going to kick major ass starting next week,” Matsukawa added, popping up behind Hanamaki. “Let’s show ‘em what Seijoh is made of. We won’t go down easy during our last game.”

All the players in the club room cheered. 

“Spoken like a captain,” Kunimi muttered, kneeling down to tie his shoelaces. 

“Speaking of captains,” Yahaba said. “Where is Oikawa-san?”

“Practicing,” Matsukawa responded. He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about him. Iwaizumi will drag him home once he’s at risk of taking it too far.”

The room was silent for a while, save for the sounds of people ruffling around in their bags and changing clothes. Yahaba felt the weight of everyone’s respect for their captain hanging in the air. Oikawa fighting tooth and nail to get not just himself but his entire team to the top, sometimes to the point of nearly injuring himself, was something they all admired.

_Will I be able to fight as fiercely as he does once I’m captain?_

Yahaba slid his arms into his jacket and threw his bag over his shoulder. He bid his teammates goodbye and left the club room with a sigh, thoughts he didn’t want to pay attention to starting to buzz in his mind.

He passed the open doors to the gym, and stopped walking when he noticed Oikawa and Iwaizumi talking softly. Oikawa clutched a volleyball in his hands, probably having planned on practicing some more until Iwaizumi had interrupted him. Yahaba stood too far away to hear them, but it would be rude to eavesdrop on something as personal as this. And yet he didn’t, couldn’t continue on.

Oikawa said something, then averted his gaze, staring to the floor with a pained expression. Then Iwaizumi lifted a hand to grab Oikawa’s jaw, turning his head back to him as he spoke. The two stared at each other for a while until Oikawa sighed, dropping the tension in his shoulders. Iwaizumi pulled the volleyball from Oikawa’s hands, letting it fall to the floor before taking Oikawa’s hands in his, stroking Oikawa’s knuckles gently with his thumbs. 

Yahaba felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. The gesture was so simple, and yet it shared so many things between them, so much emotion and care. Yahaba tore his gaze away and started walking again when he saw Oikawa smile softly in response to the touch. That was definitely a smile reserved for Iwaizumi only, and Yahaba had no right to witness something that intimate.

The imaginary vines constricting Yahaba’s lungs didn’t loosen their grip as he reached the school gates and turned right without a second thought. He’d been meeting Shirabu at the playground nearly every day after training, and every time he convinced himself to confess to him. But when the moment of truth came around, he always found himself saying something else, chickening out at the last second.

Yahaba had considered confessing over text messages, but he thought that to be incredibly insensitive. He’d considered phone calls, too, but he hated phone calls. And leaving a love letter at his door wouldn’t exactly work either, since Yahaba didn’t know where Shirabu lived.

Yahaba had never thought confessing would be so hard.

During his walk towards the playground every day, he’d practice what he’d say, taking his time searching for the right words. But no matter how much he’d printed his confession to memory, it completely vanished when the opportunity to confess rose up. His mind slammed closed like a door, and Yahaba could only talk about insignificant things to steer clear of the conversation he’d been dreading.

As much as he kept avoiding it, Yahaba also knew that Kindaichi was right in saying he shouldn’t bottle up his feelings. To try to contain them was letting them spread like the plague, and things would only turn more awkward. And yet..

Yahaba reached the playground way too soon for his liking, and it only took him a second to spot Shirabu on one of the swings, using his toes to gently sway back and forth. He sat down on the swing beside Shirabu without a word, setting his bag on the ground beside him. 

He noticed Shirabu turning his head towards him from the corners of his eyes, raising a questioning eyebrow. When Yahaba didn’t react, he looked away again, toying with the tape around his fingers. Neither of them spoke, but the silence between them was comfortable. Comforting. After a few moments, Yahaba felt the tension in his body relax a little, and he was able to breathe more easily. 

_Maybe it’s better if I don’t tell him, after all._

“You’re quieter than usual,” Shirabu said softly, picking on the edges of the sports tape with his nails. “Something on your mind?”

“Yeah,” Yahaba answered simply. He didn’t feel like getting into detail.

“Want to talk about it?” Shirabu offered.

“Not really.”

Shirabu hummed in understanding. Silence spread between them again, only broken by the sound of the wind blowing gently around them and birds singing their afternoon songs. Yahaba focused on the sounds around him, forcing the thoughts from his mind one by one until he felt calmer. 

“How was training?” Yahaba asked, hoping that talking would distract him a little.

Shirabu snorted. “Insufferable.”

Yahaba raised his eyebrows. “That bad?”

“Not in the way you think,” Shirabu said. “Training was okay. Hard, but manageable. The insufferable part was one of my teammates blatantly hitting on another teammate, and the latter being as dense as a brick.”

“Ah,” Yahaba hummed, his thoughts flashing back to the scene he’d witnessed this afternoon. “I think I recognize that. Not that exact scenario, but something similar.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. A few months ago our captain and our ace were hardcore pining after each other. It was so obvious, but neither of them noticed the other felt the same. The entire team was suffering. At one point a teammate locked them both in the club room to make them sort out their feelings.”

Shirabu threw his head back, laughing. “That’s hilarious. Did they manage to sort it out?”

“I guess so,” Yahaba supposed. “They’re not exactly sticking to each other every five seconds, but they’ve always been close. I think they keep their intimate moments away from the team to avoid being teased about it.”

“Sounds like a reasonable choice.”

“I guess. It doesn’t stop them from staring at each other during training, though. It’s horrible.”

Shirabu chuckled. “I can imagine.”

The boys fell silent, and Yahaba felt something churn in his stomach. _Of course, of all the things we could’ve talked about, we’re talking about people pining after each other. Just marvelous._

“I’m worried about the Spring tournament prelims,” Yahaba found himself confessing, half because he felt the need to change the subject, and half because maybe talking about it would make him feel better.

“Is that what’s been bugging you?” Shirabu asked. When Yahaba nodded, Shirabu let out something between a sigh and a snort. “Me too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I have no doubt we’ll get far, maybe even make it to nationals again. But it’s the last tournament for the third-years, and that’s quite some responsibility to bear as the starting setter.”

Shirabu sighed, running a hand through his hair, making a few strands stick up. “I just hope I won’t mess up.”

“You won’t,” Yahaba insisted. “I’m sure. You’re an amazing setter. I’ve seen that with my own eyes.”

Shirabu smiled, eyes on the ground, and Yahaba found himself blushing. He averted his gaze, folding his hands in his lap. 

“I’ve been giving my all in training,” Yahaba said, “working hard to improve my setting and serves. But I feel like I’ve only been taking steps backward. It’s frustrating.”

Shirabu hummed, then cleared his throat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why would you be worried about that when you’re not a starting player? You’ll only be on the court for a few times during a game, if at all.”

Yahaba frowned when the words hit him hard despite the fact that they weren’t meant to be offensive. 

“Because I want to be at my best when it matters. You might not relate because you’re a starter, but I’m as passionate about being on the court as everyone else. Maybe even more, because I don’t get to score points for my team as often as I would like.” 

Yahaba’s voice rose gradually as he kept speaking, his emotions slowly taking the better of him. “The fact that I barely play during games won’t take away my worries about my team. I want them to succeed, no matter in what way I play my part.”

When Yahaba stopped talking, the silence that followed was unusually deafening. Shirabu nodded a few times, then turned his head away, his shoulders slumping just slightly. 

_Oh shit._

“I’m sorry,” Yahaba said quickly, his heart thumping uncomfortably in his chest. “I didn’t mean to sound so angry.”

“It’s fine,” Shirabu muttered, voice low. “You’re right, after all. I’m sorry if I hit a nerve.”

“You didn’t,” Yahaba insisted, even though he wasn’t sure whether he spoke the truth or not. “I’m just.. a little on edge.”

Shirabu opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it and snapped it shut again. The silence that spread between them made Yahaba uncomfortable and jittery. For a second he considered getting up and going home, but there’s no way he could leave when tension hung heavy in the air like this. Yahaba ransacked his brain, searching frantically for a way to lighten the mood.

“You know,” Shirabu began, seemingly hesitant, “I could try to help you, if you want. With serving and setting, I mean. Show you what I know and such.”

“Are you serious? I mean-- That’d be wonderful,” Yahaba exclaimed, feeling something similar to relief spread through his chest.

Shirabu turned his head slightly, peeking at Yahaba through his bangs and smiling softly. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Forget I said that.” Shirabu shook his head a little, as if to clear his head. “I probably won’t be teaching you anything new, but we could try. If it makes you feel better.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Yahaba said, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a smile.

“There’s a grass field with a volleyball net close to where I live,” Shirabu went on. “We could meet there tomorrow.”

“Right.” Yahaba frowned when something occurred to him. “If we’re going to practice setting, don’t we need someone to, you know, hit our sets?”

“I can hit balls just as fine as I can set them, thank you very much,” Shirabu snapped, crossing his arms in mock offense. “But if you insist, I could ask Kawanishi to tag along--”

“No, that’s fine,” Yahaba said quickly. “We’ll manage.”

“If you say so.”

Yahaba laughed, then fell silent. “Are you willing to give up your day off just to teach me? I know Sunday is the only day you don’t have training.”

Shirabu chucked once. “It’s fine, it’s not like I would’ve done anything useful anyway.” His cheeks reddened a little before he continued. “Besides, I like hanging out with you. A lot, actually.”

Yahaba felt his own face flush, and it seemed like the warmth quickly spread through his entire body. 

“That’s-- Ah, um.. I’m glad,” Yahaba stammered, trying to break through his flustered state. “Very glad.”

Shirabu smiled, then got to his feet and slung his bag across his shoulder. “Meet me at my house tomorrow. I’ll text you the address.”

Yahaba stood up too. “What time?”

Shirabu thought it over, looking Yahaba in the face with slightly furrowed brows, as if he was able to find the answer there. 

“Is 10 am alright with you?”

“Perfect,” Yahaba nodded.

Shirabu nodded once, grabbing the strap of his bag with one hand and smiling. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~~~

Yahaba checked the address on his phone one last time to make sure he was at the right place before ringing the doorbell. He looked up to the modern, two-storey house as he waited for a response. It looked fancier than he’d expected it to be, and he wondered if the furniture inside was as fancy as the building looked on the outside.

After waiting for about half a minute, he pressed the doorbell again, wondering if it didn’t get through the first time. Then he heard the soft rumbling of someone hurriedly walking down the stairs, and Yahaba flinched when the sound of something crashing into the floor reached his ears. A stream of curses sounded, and Yahaba laughed softly. That was Shirabu, all right.

Keys fumbled in the lock, and finally the door swung open, revealing a wide-eyed Shirabu. He was wearing a rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants, and his hair stuck up in all directions. 

“Fuck,” Shirabu cursed again. “I’m sorry, I overslept. I forgot to set an alarm.”

Yahaba chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s fine. Can I come in?”

Shirabu opened the door wider and stepped aside, clearing the way. Yahaba walked past him, and Shirabu shut the door. 

“Aren’t your parents home?” Yahaba asked, looking around.The staircase leading to the second floor was about a meter away from the front door, which explained why he’d heard the noises so clearly. He smiled to himself. It _was_ also fancy on the inside. 

“Dad leaves early every morning, and mom is on a business trip,” Shirabu explained, walking through the hallway to a room Yahaba assumed would be the living room. Yahaba followed and peeked in. 

“You can wait in here while I change clothes,” Shirabu said, gesturing to the room before him. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Sure,” Yahaba replied, wandering inside, taking in the white walls and big windows. He glanced at Shirabu over his shoulder. “By the way, did you just fall from the stairs? I heard a crash and then some _very_ familiar cursing when I was outside.”

Yahaba turned to watch Shirabu’s eyes widen. “Shut up,” he said quickly, turning on his heels and running back upstairs. Yahaba laughed until he couldn’t hear Shirabu stomping around anymore, then he examined the living room. 

It was very bright and lively, with a colourful rug on the floor and different kinds of plants on the windowsill. The furniture was modern and stark, but that didn’t make the interior feel less home-y. Lots of light streamed through the big windows and illuminated the light wooden floor. There was a desk pushed into a corner, and a tall bookshelf filled with books and binders and stacks of documents stood beside it. Yahaba perused the titles of the books before walking over to a few framed pictures on the wall. 

The first one was a family picture, taken at the beach. Judging from Shirabu’s appearance in the picture, it wasn’t taken too long ago. Shirabu was smiling slightly, eyes focused on the camera, and wore a snapback backwards on his head. Next to him, an older boy had slung an arm over Shirabu’s shoulder. A brother maybe? Behind the two stood their parents, arms wrapped around each other. 

Yahaba moved on to the next photo, which seemed to be a school picture taken years ago: Shirabu’s face, in front of a bland background, smiling awkwardly into the camera with braced teeth. He must have been around 11 years old back then. His bangs were growing out, falling into his eyes, and he wore a school uniform that seemed a tad too large for him. Yahaba bit back a laugh. _How adorable._

A surprised yelp sounded from the hallway, followed by another crashing sound. Yahaba jumped and turned, wondering if he should check if everything was okay. Shirabu appeared in the doorway, rubbing his side and cursing under his breath. He wore simple shorts and a dark purple t-shirt, and had his bag hanging dangerously close to the edge of his shoulder.

“Me and the stairway don’t get along today,” he mumbled. Then he noticed where Yahaba stood, and his eyes widened. “Oh no, not _that_ picture. I keep asking mom to take it away but she insists on keeping it there.”

Yahaba chuckled. “You look cute with braces.”

“Shut up,” Shirabu said, dragging a hand across his face. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Everyone has their awkward stage, Shirabu. Just be glad it’s not happening right now,” Yahaba teased, winking. Shirabu rolled his eyes and made his way to the front door. 

“Let’s go.”

“Wait, don’t you need breakfast or something?” Yahaba asked, catching up with Shirabu, who was halfway out the house already. He considered it for a second, then walked across the hallway to what Yahaba guessed was the kitchen. 

He disappeared for a moment, the sounds of him rummaging through a cupboard floating Yahaba’s way. Then he popped up again, biting down on a granola bar as he went back to the front door. He grabbed Yahaba by his wrist as he passed him, dragging him out the door. He locked the door behind him, granola bar between his teeth. Shirabu pocketed his keys, put a hand on the strap of his bag to keep it from sliding off his shoulder, and jerked his head, ordering Yahaba to follow.

Yahaba could only chuckle and go after him.

It took about fifteen minutes to reach the small volleyball field Shirabu had spoken of. When they arrived, Shirabu sat down on the grass and rummaged through his bag. 

“You go ahead and warm up. I have to tape up my fingers first.”

“You do that every time before training?” Yahaba asked. _Did he have weak fingers? Did he injure them in the past?_

Shirabu pulled out the tape. “If I don’t, I end up taping them up halfway through because they start to hurt. It’s more of a habit than a necessity, but I feel a bit more comfortable if my fingers are secure.”

“I see,” Yahaba mused.

Yahaba started running laps around the volleyball field, and soon he felt sweat beading on his forehead and in his neck. The fact that the sun shone brightly, heating the air around him and warming his exposed skin, didn’t really help. After a few laps Shirabu came to join him, and when they were thoroughly warmed up and panting, they ran through their stretches. Yahaba couldn’t help but notice Shirabu paid very close attention to his hands while stretching, minimizing his risk of injuring his fingers due to poor preparation. 

“Well, then,” Shirabu said, twirling a volleyball between his fingers. He smirked. 

“Let’s play some volleyball.”

~~~

Watching Shirabu play from up close was truly fascinating. 

He was all raw power and calculated movements, and yet there was something timid about the way he set up the ball. It was as if, instead of giving the ball the power he possessed, he only amplified the power it already had, readying it for its role in the offense. It was one of the many mysteries of Shirabu Yahaba wasn’t able to unravel.

Besides being able to set up in an extraordinary way, he could spike and serve excellently as well. 

If Yahaba wasn’t so awestruck, it would’ve been enough to make him curl his toes with envy.

When it was time for a break, Yahaba offered to pick up some meat buns at a bakery he’d noticed on their way to the volleyball field. He was sure he was pushing his luck when he came to check if it was open, but apparently the gods were on his side that day. Yahaba returned, a bag of freshly baked buns in his hand, to Shirabu lying on his back in the grass, staring up at the clouds. His sneakers and socks lay at his feet, abandoned. 

Yahaba smiled at the sight before he walked up to join him, sitting down on the grass and setting the bag down between them. He handed Shirabu a bun, and he took it gratefully, sitting up before he took a bite. They ate quietly for a while, and Yahaba revelled in the warmth of the sun on his face, the feeling of the grass tickling against his bare legs. 

“You know,” Shirabu began, moving his fingertips over the grass, “your setting is not bad at all. It’s great, actually. Your serves are too. Maybe there are some tiny things you could improve, and I have no idea how well you sync up with your teammates, but I think you’re going to be just fine.”

Yahaba nearly choked on the final bite of his meatbun. “You really mean that?” he forced out in between coughs.

Shirabu seemed unfazed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Yahaba shrugged, clearing his throat a few times. “I guess I kind of expected you to shit talk my setting skills.”

Shirabu scrunched his nose. “Well, thanks a lot, Shitgeru.” He let himself fall back on the grass and frowned up at the deep blue sky. “I might be a salty brat, but I’m not an asshole. I don’t make fun of people’s insecurities for shits and giggles.”

Yahaba hummed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Shirabu’s frown softened, and he closed his eyes. “Besides, you wanted me to help you. I can’t teach you anything new, so honest feedback is the least I can give.” 

Shirabu looked up at Yahaba, catching his gaze. “Trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about. You’ll do just fine.”

Yahaba smiled brightly, and ruffled Shirabu’s hair, despite the latter’s protests. “Thanks. That means a lot. Especially coming from you.”

Shirabu snorted. “Don’t be weird. I’m just a setter.”

“And a very talented one.”

“Shut up.”

Yahaba laughed, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the sky. “So what do we do now?”

Shirabu stretched his arms above his head, letting the tips of the grass slide through his fingertips. “No idea. There’s not much use repeating what we practiced before if there’s nothing to learn.”

Yahaba grabbed a fistful of grass and sprinkled it over Shirabu’s face. Shirabu squeezed his eyes shut and spluttered. “What the fuck?”

“Now you’re blessed.”

“You’re horrible,” Shirabu said, brushing the grass off his face. But the words held nothing but a smile.

Yahaba laughed. “I know.” He reached out to pick a few daisies growing close to where he sat, and started making a string of the flowers. Shirabu lay still in the grass, eyes closed, hands on his stomach. They silently held each other company, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Yahaba was convinced he could sit there for days. 

Yahaba tied up the string and held up a flimsy flower crown. It wasn’t the prettiest thing he’d ever made, but it would do.

“Shirabu, sit up for a second. Keep your eyes closed.” Yahaba ordered.

“That sounds awfully suspicious,” Shirabu said, not moving an inch. “Are you sure I can trust you?”

“Just sit up, killjoy.”

Shirabu did as he was told, fidgeting with the tape on his fingers as he waited for Yahaba’s next move. Yahaba gently positioned the flower crown on Shirabu’s head. Shirabu flinched away slightly at the touch. 

“What are you doing?”

“Keep your eyes closed,” Yahaba repeated, adjusting the crown a little bit.

He sat back, admiring the result, and had to bite back a squeal. It was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. Yahaba felt his cheeks go red, and he took a few breaths to recompose himself.

“Can I open my eyes now?” Shirabu muttered. 

Yahaba cleared his throat softly. “Go ahead.”

Shirabu’s eyes flew open, and raised an eyebrow as he watched Yahaba trying really hard not to smile. He reached up and hesitantly touched the flowers on his head. He looked back at Yahaba, a confused frown on his face. 

“Why?” Shirabu only said, seeming stuck between different reactions.

Yahaba shrugged. When Shirabu raised his hands again, Yahaba quickly grabbed his wrists. “Don’t take it off yet. I need to take a picture of this.”

Shirabu groaned as Yahaba whipped his phone out of his pocket. “I get the feeling you were placed on this earth just to torture me.”

“Trust me, I feel like your existence has the same goal,” Yahaba deadpanned, opening the camera. “Smile, please.”

Shirabu’s face was unamused, and Yahaba waited but the expression didn’t budge. After a while Yahaba gave up hope and took a picture. “I should’ve expected that.”

“You have your damn picture. Can I take it off now?”

Yahaba sighed. “Fine. You really don’t know how to have fun, do you?”

“This is not fun,” Shirabu deadpanned, lifting the flowers off his head. “Here, you take this.”

“Too bad, you look pretty with those flowers,” Yahaba blurted out, and he nearly physically cringed from his lack of filter. _Get a fucking grip._

Shirabu quickly turned his head away, thrusting the flower crown in Yahaba’s lap. Yahaba took the flowers and carefully planted them on his own head. “I guess I’ll wear them then.”

Shirabu glanced at him wordlessly for a second before grabbing his own phone.

“What are you doing?” Yahaba asked warily.

“An eye for an eye, Shitgeru.” The phone clicked, and Shirabu pocketed the device, seeming satisfied. “Now I have blackmail material.”

“You’re a truly awful friend, Shirabu.”

Shirabu chuckled once, and looked over the grass field and the houses and trees surrounding it with a soft smile. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny because I wrote this chapter to work up to something I had in mind for the end of it but then it became too long so I saved the thing I worked up to for the next chapter. Hence why I think this chapter is boring and useless. :))))
> 
> Can you guys tell I love flower crowns? Because I do ^^
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it!
> 
> Feedback/comments are very much appreciated ^^ (no really, I don't want to ask for too much but please let me know if this chapter isn't as bad as I feel like it is, that would take away the bitter taste I have in my mouth for posting this piece of shit, whaha)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay I'm not late this time! :D  
> Thank you all once again for reading and leaving comments and kudos!! *sends y'all hugs*
> 
> This chapter is a little short for my taste, but more than enough stuff happens to keep you guys occupied! (now let's hope I wrote it well ;3)
> 
> Enjoy!

Only three days were left before the first preliminaries of the Spring tournament, and Yahaba was leaving the club room with a skip in his step. Training had gone exceptionally well: both his serves and his sets had been powerful and sharp, and he had felt in sync with both his teammates and his abilities. The compliments he’d received because of that only added to his good mood. 

Yahaba made his way towards the playground, humming a song he’d heard on the radio that morning. Shirabu might have thought practicing together hadn’t helped much, but Yahaba was convinced that it had changed something for the better. The day after their meet-up Yahaba had already seen some improvement in his movements, and it had only gone up from there.

Yahaba felt like he was on top of the world.

When he arrived at the playground, he found Shirabu underneath one of the trees surrounding the area, hiding from the scorching sun shining above. As Yahaba came closer, he noticed Shirabu was dozing, hands in his lap, head leaning against the sturdy bark of the tree. Yahaba looked at him fondly, a small smile on his lips, before sitting down beside him. Shirabu opened his eyes as Yahaba settled in a comfortable position. 

“This heat is making me sleepy,” Shirabu murmured as a greeting, stifling a yawn. “My brain feels like a damp dishcloth.”

Yahaba chuckled. “Some of our third-years tried to start a water fight during our break because of the heat,” Yahaba said. “Sadly, coach cut it off before it could escalate.”

Shirabu snickered. “One of my teammates threw some water in my face to try to wake me up.”

“And then?”

“I punched him in the gut.”

Yahaba laughed. “Classic Shirabu.”

“Asshole,” Shirabu said, snorting. “I don’t think you’ve known me long enough to dub one of my moves as classic.”

“We hang out every day though,” Yahaba countered.

“Good point.”

Yahaba started humming again while Shirabu dug a water bottle out of his sports bag. 

“You’re in a good mood today,” Shirabu commented, taking a sip. “Did training go well?”

“It did,” Yahaba beamed, a smile tugging up the corners of his lips. “It went great. I feel like I’m finally improving.”

“Really?” Shirabu sat up a little, straightening his back, and smiled at Yahaba. “That’s amazing. I’m glad,” he said, putting the water bottle back into his bag.

Yahaba’s smile widened into a grin. “It’s probably because you helped me out, though.”

Shirabu snorted. “Nonsense. I didn’t teach you a thing. You just need to believe in yourself a bit more.”

“If you say so,” Yahaba laughed sheepishly, trying not to become flustered. “But,” he continued, a bit hesitantly, “I think that counts for you too.”

“For me?” Shirabu echoed, raising an eyebrow. “How?”

“Well,” Yahaba sighed, looking down at the ground between them. “It’s not like I don’t notice the tiny hints you drop that imply you’re nothing more than ordinary. But you have more than enough reason to believe you’re nothing short of extraordinary.”

Yahaba peeked at Shirabu, who was looking at him with a dumbstruck expression before he hid his face in his hands. “For God’s sake, Yahaba,” he groaned, “you can’t just say things like that.”

Yahaba chuckled softly. Shirabu was cute when he was flustered.

Shirabu removed his hands and, pulling up his feet, wrapped them around his legs instead. “Besides,” he continued, “you can’t just assume those things. It’s not like you really know me, after all.”

_You don’t know me, you don’t know anything._

_Why do you keep saying that?_

“But, that’s the thing,” Yahaba said, shifting to look at Shirabu better. “I do know you. I know you don’t like it when people worry about you or fuss over you. I know you start fidgeting with your hands or the tape around your fingers when you’re nervous or lost in thought. I know you use words as sharp as knives to keep people away from business you don’t want them to look into. I know that you’re honest, and strong, and hardworking. I know you’re passionate and competitive.”

Yahaba tried to catch Shirabu’s gaze, but he kept staring straight ahead, keeping his face blank. Yahaba sighed, and continued.

“I might not know your backstory or your future, but I know enough to want to get to know you more. Enough to care about you. Enough to..” Yahaba trailed off, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks because of the words he said next. “To want to see you happy.”

The silence that followed crushed Yahaba’s lungs, and he prayed to every and any god that would listen that he hadn’t said the wrong thing. He didn’t even understand why he’d told Shirabu those things, other than that they were all true. He wanted Shirabu to know that Yahaba knew him, that he noticed and that he cared. He watched Shirabu intently, waiting for any kind of reaction. 

It seemed to take forever, but finally Shirabu moved, raising a hand to his face, covering his eyes, and shaking his head slowly.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, laughing under his breath. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Yahaba reassured him. “I just wanted you to know that it’s okay to.. let people know you, I guess.”

Shirabu sighed and let his hand fall back in his lap. “Thanks. I suppose.”

“Anytime.”

They sat together in silence for a while. Shirabu picked on the tape around his fingers, and Yahaba couldn’t help but wonder what was on his mind. It appeared Yahaba didn’t have to wonder for long when Shirabu took a deep breath and spoke.

“Okay, so there’s this thing I’ve been wanting to tell you about for a while now, but I never knew how to bring it up without making things awkward,” Shirabu began. For some reason Yahaba’s heart started thumping violently in his chest. 

“And I kept putting it off because I was afraid you’d think of me differently if you knew,” Shirabu continued. He started pulling the tape from his fingers, to keep his hands busy, Yahaba assumed. “But I guess that won’t matter much now.”

Yahaba just watched him, waiting for him to continue. Seconds ticked by without anyone speaking. Then, a deep sigh. 

“I’m depressed.”

Yahaba’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt his heart sink to his stomach. _Wait, what?_

“It’s not that serious, really, most days I can manage,” Shirabu continued, his voice turning softer and lower with every word. “But some days are pretty hard to get through. You don’t need to know the details and everything, but I felt like it was important that you knew because it might, you know, explain some things…” he trailed off, busying himself with the tape on his fingers, his brows knitting together. 

Yahaba’s mind was nothing but white noise, trying to comprehend what was going on. 

“I just hope you’re not judging me now or something,” Shirabu said, voice sounding a bit off, his fingers pulling into fists. 

“No! No, I’m not judging you,” Yahaba reassured him quickly. “Why would I judge you? It’s not your fault you’re.. ill.”

Shirabu’s shoulders lost tension Yahaba hadn’t noticed, and a relieved sigh left Shirabu’s lips. “Thank god.”

There were a few seconds of silence before Yahaba spoke. 

“I’m just wondering, though,” Yahaba began, “Why are you telling me this? You didn’t have to tell me something that personal. I would’ve understood if you wanted to keep that private.”

Shirabu shrugged lightly, the movement so small Yahaba nearly missed it. “I just felt like you deserved to know, being my best friend and all. Also, like I said, it might explain things.”

_Wait._

“Best friend?” Yahaba echoed, a smile tugging on his lips.

“Do you know anyone else I hang out with every day?” Shirabu deadpanned.

“Your teammates?” Yahaba suggested.

“Okay, correction: do you know anyone else I like hanging out with every day?”

“You got me there.”

Yahaba felt his cheeks turn warm, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t because of the unbearable heat. 

“It’s just,” Shirabu sighed, toying with his shoelaces, “my mom doesn’t understand. She thinks I’m just being lazy and acting like an impossible teenager and everything. She just pretends it doesn’t exist. It’s a pain being around her sometimes, even though she often means well.”

_Which is why he didn’t want to go home yet the day of our sleepover,_ Yahaba realized.

“You don’t need to say or do anything,” Shirabu said. “It’s just a part of me I can’t ignore, and a part of me you deserve to know about. That’s all.”

Yahaba’s mind finally caught up with him, and he understood now. Those stone cold walls Shirabu had built around him, they were there to fend off anyone who would invalidate him, judge him for something he couldn’t do anything about. And, knowing how ugly depression could be, they were there to keep people from seeing a part of him he hated, and a part that people might hate about him. 

And the fact that Shirabu told Yahaba of this only meant that Shirabu trusted him enough to let him take a look inside his walls.

“Come here,” Yahaba said softly, reaching out and pulling Shirabu into a hug. Shirabu stiffened underneath his touch.

“What are you doing?” he forced out.

“I’m hugging you, obviously.”

“How unpleasant.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Shirabu slowly relaxed, and a second later Yahaba felt Shirabu’s arms wrap around his waist. “No.”

They sat like that for a while, and Yahaba tried not to think of how many times he’d imagined holding Shirabu in his arms like this. When he pulled back, he grabbed Shirabu’s shoulders and locked eyes with him.

“Just so you know, I don’t think differently of you now that you’ve told me this. In fact, I’m glad you trust me enough to share something this personal with me.”

Shirabu smiled tightly and looked down, blinking a few times. “Good.”

Yahaba smiled back, fighting back the urge to stroke Shirabu’s cheek as he retracted his hands. Shirabu leaned back against the tree and sighed deeply. “Well, I’m glad that’s out of the way.”

Yahaba hummed and looked up at the canopy of leaves above him, the top layer having turned bright green because of the sun’s rays. He itched to take Shirabu’s hand, because it felt like the right thing to do at a moment like this, but he was very well aware it was a border he could not cross. 

Yet.

“You had better not start to worry about me now that you know, though,” Shirabu said from beside him, and when Yahaba turned to him he noticed Shirabu was pinning him down with a serious look. 

Yahaba shook his head with a small smile. “I won’t.” _Not more than usual, anyway._

Shirabu smiled, then closed his eyes. “Good.”

Yahaba watched Shirabu’s relaxed face for a while, his skin looking so smooth underneath the soft filtered light, before tearing his gaze away and letting it wander over the playground. He felt a knot form in his stomach. _Do it_ , one of his thoughts screamed at him. _Confess. Now._

Yahaba took a deep breath. A second one followed. He swallowed and folded his hands in his lap. The knot in his stomach kept growing and growing. Another deep breath. _Come on. COME ON._

“Shirabu,” he said, his voice surprisingly even. He did it. He couldn’t turn back now.

“Hm?” Shirabu hummed, not opening his eyes.

“I need to tell you something.”

Shirabu’s eyes flew open, and he sat up straighter. “What’s the matter?”

“Ah, well, um,” Yahaba stammered, then cleared his throat. The knot in his stomach spread to his chest and constricted his lungs. _Just say it._

Yahaba squeezed his eyes shut. “I like you. Like, a lot. In-- In a romantic way.” He inwardly cringed at the bluntness of his words, and yet he couldn’t have said it in a more gentle way. Not without turning it into one confusing mess. He wanted to say more, but it seemed like his vocal chords were locked down. He almost didn’t dare open his eyes, but he did.

Shirabu was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t identify. He didn’t say a word, and after a while he looked at the ground and bit his lower lip. 

Yahaba realized he hadn’t been breathing and inhaled sharply. Shirabu kept looking down, his expression still unreadable but inching towards looking _pained_ , of all things. Yahaba couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“Shirabu, say something.”

Shirabu stood up slowly and looked down on Yahaba. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Something in him snapped. Yahaba stood up in one fluid movement, feeling like something was starting to strangle him. 

“Why the fuck would I be joking about something like this?” he yelled. “You think I’ve been trying to build up the courage to say this for _days_ just to turn it into a joke?”

“That’s not what I meant--”

“Then what _did_ you mean?”

Shirabu’s wide eyes flicked back and forth between Yahaba’s face and the ground before he grabbed his bag and flung it across his shoulder with a pained scowl.

“I need to go,” he forced out, pushing past Yahaba and walking in the direction of his home.

Yahaba’s stomach dropped. He reached out and grabbed Shirabu’s wrist. “Wait--”

_“Don’t touch me,”_ Shirabu hissed, yanking his wrist back. “Leave me alone.”

He started running away, and Yahaba could only watch Shirabu’s figure shrink into the distance until he rounded a corner and disappeared. The walls were back up, and they were violently pushing Yahaba away. Just when he’d made so much progress.

Yahaba stepped backwards until he felt the tree dig into his shoulder blades, then sunk to the ground, all while trying to push back the tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, physically feeling his heart break and swallow everything in him. A sob escaped him, and he forcefully bit his lower lip. 

_I’ve made a mistake. A terrible mistake._

~~~

Shirabu did not come to the playground the next day. Or the day after. He didn’t answer Yahaba’s messages, didn’t even bother to read them. Training was one disaster after the other, and soon Yahaba stopped trying, just going along with what was asked of him without making a total mess. It was at complete odds with what he’d felt before, like he was on top of the world. He could laugh at the irony though: the higher you stand, the farther you’ll fall.

He missed talking to Shirabu. He missed their innocent banter, he missed hearing him laugh. He missed being close to him. But his gut told him he wouldn’t be seeing Shirabu again for a long time. And it was all his fault.

_What did I do wrong?_

“Did something happen?” Kindaichi asked during training one day. It was the last day before the first prelims, and the team was running through strategies and lineups. Preparing the best they could. “You look like someone died.”

“I’m the one that died,” Yahaba muttered, angrily clutching his water bottle.

“Does this have to do with the mystery boy?” Kindaichi prodded carefully. Just the thought of Shirabu made his heart clench painfully.

“I confessed to him,” Yahaba blurted out, ignoring the stab in his chest the memory brought along. “But he walked away. Now he won’t talk to me.”

Kindaichi’s face resembled something like disgust. “That’s a horrible move to make. Are you sure you still want to date him? He sounds like an asshole.”

“I lashed out to him, though, so he’s not the only asshole around here,” Yahaba said bitterly. He stood up from the bench he sat on to rejoin the team, but Kindaichi grabbed his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

“You look miserable and I’m worried about you. Are you going to be okay?” 

Yahaba snorted humorlessly and shook his head. “Don’t even try.”

A day later, the first two games of the Spring tournament went off without a hitch, and soon the team was celebrating their victory and the fact that they could play again during the second set of preliminaries in October. Oikawa suggested going out to get ramen with the team, and as the whole group cheered to that idea, Yahaba agreed to go along too, though begrudgingly. 

As they all made their way to their usual ramen place, Yahaba fished his phone out of his pocket. He quickly typed out a message to Shirabu, even though half of him was convinced he’d ignore it.

**Yahaba:** We made it through the first prelims

Yahaba put his phone away again, not bothering to wait for a reaction that might never come.

No matter how moody Yahaba was, the celebratory atmosphere helped him forget his worries a little. They were all idiots stuck in one place, and that was bound to bring joy along. Soon Yahaba was laughing along with the others as Matsukawa held a bunch of long strings of ramen up to his face with his chopsticks, pretending to have a mustache, and talked nonsense with a low, raspy voice, mimicking an ancient sensei lecturing his pupils. He laughed again when Oikawa spewed tea all over the table at the sight, and again as Iwaizumi ordered Oikawa in a booming voice to clean up his mess.

His team was a blessing he took for granted way too often.

He listened as Watari animatedly told Kindaichi about a new tv-series he was watching, sipping his cup of tea and finding peace in the chaos around him. He’d sort things out, eventually. He was sure about that now.

The stars were already out when the joyful group left the place, and after a set of goodbyes each member went their own way. Yahaba kept an eye on the sky as he walked home, hands buried in his pockets, marvelling at the simple beauty of it. Maybe he could go stargazing with Shirabu one day--

_Stop right there._

Yahaba frowned as the pit in his stomach returned. It didn’t stay long, though, because a few seconds later he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He quickly pulled it out, his heart speeding up in his chest.

**Shirabu:** We did too

Yahaba replied immediately, and he was pretty sure he’d never typed that fast before.

**Yahaba:** Nice! Congratulations

He waited a while, and after a couple of seconds Shirabu’s reply popped in.

**Shirabu:** You too

Well, it wasn’t much, but at least Shirabu was letting him know he was still alive. And letting him know he knew Yahaba still existed. Yahaba desperately prayed he didn’t damage their friendship beyond repair when he confessed a few days ago. 

_No_ , a voice in him said. _It shouldn’t have damaged it. It couldn’t be, not while they’d grown so close during the past few weeks._

Yahaba typed a few words he’d sent to Shirabu a million times during the past few days. He just hoped Shirabu would actually reply to them this time.

**Yahaba:** I’m sorry

A few seconds later his phone notified him that Shirabu had read the message, and Yahaba’s heart was starting to rise to his throat. He felt a shock go through him when he noticed Shirabu was typing.

**Shirabu:** You have nothing to be sorry about

Shirabu went offline after that, and Yahaba couldn’t have been more confused. What the hell did that mean? Did it mean things were okay between them? But if that was true, why had Shirabu been avoiding him like the plague?

He was still staring at his phone, mulling over the message when he rounded a corner and collided with someone, making him yelp. His phone slid through his fingers, and he quickly knelt down to pick it up.

“I’m sorry,” Yahaba said hurriedly, grabbing his phone and straightening. “I wasn’t--”

He cut himself off when he realized whose eyes he was looking into. Yahaba blinked in surprise.

“Shirabu?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. that happened. Such drama, much wow.
> 
> I finally got to write some scenes I've had in mind for days yay :D
> 
> As always:   
> Hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it! (no seriously, come fangirl with me. I have headcanons too!)
> 
> Comments/feedback are very much appreciated :) (also I just love to hear what you think of my writing heeheee ^^)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand I'm late again. Sorry, guys. Just wanted to make sure this chapter was written well >~<  
> As always, thank you guys so much for the kudos and comments <3 they make my days so much brighter ^^
> 
> I reaaally hope you guys like this update!!

Yahaba watched Shirabu’s eyes widen as he realized who was standing in front of him. Shirabu didn’t say a word, and after a second he slowly started backing away. 

Yahaba was having none of it.

Shirabu turned around -- to run away, Yahaba assumed -- and Yahaba grabbed his wrist before he could take one more step. Unlike last time, Shirabu didn’t move. He just waited, as if he knew what was coming and accepted it without bothering to put up a fight. 

“Shirabu, please,” Yahaba pleaded. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. I’m losing my mind over here.”

There was a painful silence before Shirabu spoke in a low voice, still facing away. 

“What am I supposed to think when you confess to me out of the blue and expect me to react right that second?”

Yahaba shrunk back a little. Not only did he have a point, his voice contained no emotion at all. No anger, no bitterness, no snark. Nothing went passed those thick, high walls, and Yahaba was aware of their presence now more than ever.

“You aren’t the only one losing your mind here, you know,” Shirabu continued. “Can we continue this on a different time? It’s late and I want to go home.”

“Why were you ignoring me?” Yahaba asked, his voice bordering on frantic mixed with anger. “Why did you run away? Why did you think I was joking when I con--” Yahaba nearly choked on the word-- “confessed?”

Shirabu’s shoulders slumped. Yahaba waited for him to answer, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. But there was only the sound of cars passing and leaves rustling in the wind. 

“Why won’t you answer me?” Yahaba went on, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes. “I thought.. I thought you trusted me.”

“I do trust you!” Shirabu exclaimed, whirling around to finally face Yahaba. His expression was pained, and for a moment Yahaba feared he’d hurt Shirabu. His mind was eager to confirm that thought. _Why else would he ignore you?_

“I just-- Fuck,” Shirabu cursed, covering his eyes with his free hand. “I just need to think.”

The silence between them was like a thick fog. _Something tells me you’ve been doing exactly that way too much these past few days. And believe me, I’ve done the same._

“Run me through it,” Yahaba said, more softly this time, attempting to pry Shirabu’s hand from his face. “Tell me what you’re thinking. We can figure it out.”

Shirabu stayed silent. Yahaba tried again.

“Please. We can’t leave it unresolved like this. I hate what’s going on right now, and I need this wall between us gone right this second, no matter what it takes.”

_Even if it means you’ll reject me._

Shirabu chuckled humorlessly. Shook his head slowly. Then lowered his hand. 

“Can we talk somewhere else?” he said. Emotionless once again.

Yahaba started walking, keeping Shirabu’s wrist in his hand. Shirabu followed without protest. _I know exactly where we should go._

~~~

Even though they’d often been the only people visiting the playground, it looked more deserted now, in the shadows of the dark, only illuminated by a few street lights, than it ever had before. For the first time in what felt like hours, Yahaba let go of Shirabu’s wrist, missing the warmth of it almost immediately, and sat down on one of the swings. Shirabu chose the one next to him and sighed deeply. 

Yahaba opened his mouth to speak, but Shirabu held up a finger to silence him. Yahaba noticed he was still wearing sports tape.

“Don’t. Let me collect my thoughts.”

Yahaba waited, bouncing his leg impatiently. His heart started humming uncomfortably in his chest, and he felt like it was getting harder to breathe.

Shirabu sighed next to him, and grabbed the chains of the swing he was sitting on. Yahaba couldn’t see it well due to the dim lighting, but he was sure Shirabu squeezed them hard enough for his knuckles to turn white underneath the tape. 

“First of all, I’m sorry for ignoring you. That was.. harsh.”

“It was,” Yahaba couldn’t stop himself from saying, and Shirabu gave him a dirty look. Somehow, that relieved the pressure in his chest a little. Finally, some kind of emotion.

“I just couldn’t figure out how to deal with.. what had happened,” Shirabu explained, looking straight forward. “And, honestly, you telling me you were sorry only made things worse. Like I said before, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But--”

“Don’t interrupt,” Shirabu snapped. “I’ll lose my train of thought.”

Yahaba zipped his mouth shut, forcing himself to ignore all the thoughts and questions bubbling up in his mind.

Shirabu let go of the chains and let his hands dangle between his legs instead, his elbows settling on his knees. He cleared his throat, licked his lips, took a breath.

Yahaba waited.

“When you confessed,” Shirabu started, “I felt.. many things. But above all I was confused. I needed time to think things through, because, well..” he trailed off, looking for the right words. He shook his head, as if giving up, and continued.

“But you demanded an answer right away. So I had to..” Shirabu stopped again, and bit his lip. “I had to say something that would get you off my back, so I could think about it and give you the answer you deserve, instead of saying the wrong thing by accident and hurting you.”

Shirabu squeezed his eyes shut, his brows knitting together in anguish. “But instead I went on and did just that.” He lifted his hands, covered his face with them. “And then I ran away to make sure I wouldn’t hurt you even more. But by doing that I only made things worse.”

A silence, the length of a breath. “So you have nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong. I did. And I’m really sorry.”

Neither of the boys spoke, and Yahaba assumed Shirabu was finished now. He stood up from the swing, running a hand through his hair, then burying his hands in his pockets. He felt something like anger bubbling up, rising in his chest, and it was very hard to ignore.

“If you don’t have feelings for me, then just fucking say it, Shirabu.”

“What?” Shirabu lifted his head from his hands.

“I don’t understand,” Yahaba said, his voice rising. “If you needed more time, you could’ve just told me. I would’ve waited.”

“Oh, well,” Shirabu began, getting to his feet and facing Yahaba, anger coating his features. “I’m sorry for not picking up on that in between the words, ‘Shirabu, say something’. That sounds pretty demanding to me.”

“Like I said, you could’ve just told me. No big deal.”

“You would’ve taken that as rejection. That wasn’t what I was going for. And that would’ve hurt you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yahaba shouted. “You hurt me by _not_ telling me. Why would telling me be any worse?”

Shirabu flinched. Yahaba didn’t care.

“You know you could’ve just told me if you didn’t like me that way? That would’ve hurt way less than you running away and pretending I didn’t exist for three days!” The fury was like fire in Yahaba’s throat. Couldn’t Shirabu just say what he meant? Why keep spinning around the truth?

“Look, I know I fucked up. You don’t have to rub it in my face,” Shirabu snapped. “You have the right to be angry. But I couldn’t just say I needed more time. You would’ve taken that as me choosing the easy way out of saying no. That wasn’t what I wanted to happen.”

Yahaba couldn’t take this anymore. “Why does that even matter to you?!”

_“Because I like you too, you ignorant dipshit!”_

Yahaba’s eyes went wide. He could only gape at Shirabu, who was frowning at him, panting slightly. 

“Facing those feelings was confusing enough as it was,” Shirabu muttered, averting his gaze. “Having you confess to me only made it worse. Because I’m not the one who can give you what you deserve. You deserve more than this.”

Yahaba’s brain took a while to catch up with everything, and when it did, it was a buzzing chaos. He couldn’t even marvel at the fact that the person he’d been crushing on liked him back, because said crush was implying he _wasn’t worth it_.

“What are you talking about?” Yahaba said softly, stepping closer. Shirabu didn’t move. “Give me what I deserve? What do you know about what I deserve? Do you even know what you’ve given me already?”

Shirabu looked up at him through his bangs, a confused frown on his face. In a burst of confidence, Yahaba grabbed both of Shirabu’s hands in his own, and found that the tape was denying him access to Shirabu’s skin. He started removing the tape piece by piece. Shirabu let him do it.

“Right from the start, when you didn’t even know my name, you told me I would be a great captain, based on what you picked up from just one game. You said right what I needed to hear. You gave me the confidence I needed. You did the same again when we practiced together.”

Once the tape was off, Yahaba gently stroked Shirabu’s knuckles with his thumbs. He noticed it started to drizzle around him, but he didn’t care.

“You made me want to sing, and play the guitar. You gave me something to look forward to every day: hanging out with you on this stupid ass playground. You gave me reason to believe that I wasn’t the only one struggling with following in my old captain’s footsteps. Do you even know how relieving that was, to know I wasn’t alone?”

Yahaba traded Shirabu’s hand for his cheek, tracing his fingers over the soft skin. Shirabu didn’t flinch away. 

“Trust me,” Yahaba murmured, “when I say you’ve given me so much, and that I’m convinced you’re a gift that keeps on giving.”

Shirabu closed his eyes, and Yahaba swore he could see tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. He grabbed Yahaba’s jacket, then let his forehead fall against Yahaba’s shoulder. 

“Fuck you,” he cursed underneath his breath, wrinkling the fabric of the jacket in his fists. “Stop making me fall for you even more.”

Yahaba laughed, relief spreading through every part of his body. The drizzle he’d noticed before slowly started turning into a downpour, but neither of the boys moved. Yahaba wrapped his arms around Shirabu, and the other boy hugged back, allowing Yahaba to soak in his warmth. He smiled widely, blinking back tears of joy.

_I am, hands down, the luckiest boy in the world right now._

After a while, he felt Shirabu shiver against him. “You know,” Shirabu said bluntly, “my jacket still can’t withstand rain.”

Yahaba chuckled, then let Shirabu out of his embrace. “All right. Let me walk you home.”

Shirabu suddenly appeared to have gained a massive interest in the weeds growing between the stone tiles. “Actually, I was wondering if I could stay over at your place tonight.”

Yahaba raised his eyebrows. “Sure. Are your parents okay with that?”

“Shigeru, I’m not a fucking toddler.” 

Yahaba tried and failed to ignore the casual use of his first name. 

“May I remind you that it’s past midnight right now.”

Shirabu rolled his eyes. “My parents aren’t home, and probably won’t be back until tomorrow evening. They won’t notice I’m gone.”

“Huh,” Yahaba only said. “Okay then. Let’s go, before you catch a cold.”

“Stop momming me around,” Shirabu ordered, as they started walking in the direction of Yahaba’s home. “I don’t need a second mother.”

“Actually--”

_“Yahaba Shigeru.”_

“Okay, okay.”

As they made their way towards a warm bed and dry clothes, Yahaba noticed Shirabu hook his pinkie finger about Yahaba’s. It wasn’t exactly what Yahaba had hoped for -- actually, now that he thought of it, things had gone way better than expected. It was, in fact, _everything_ he could’ve hoped for and more, even something as small as this. 

And honestly, it could only get better from there.

~~~

Both boys were thoroughly soaked when they reached Yahaba’s front door. Yahaba took a while to unlock the door, barely being able to see the keyhole in the dark, but he finally got it and pushed open the door, letting Shirabu in first. After he stepped inside, he shut the door as quietly as he could, relocking it in the process. 

“Now,” Yahaba said in a low voice, “if we don’t make too much noise we won’t wake my parents--”

“That won’t be necessary,” a female voice interrupted. Yahaba turned around and saw his mother stand in the doorway to the kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest. Yahaba cringed involuntarily. _Looks like it’s time for a lecture._

“Where have you been?” his mother asked, worry and anger laced through her voice. “You should’ve been home an hour ago!”

“I was.. hanging out with someone?” Yahaba tried, and he heard Shirabu snort softly beside him.

“At this hour?!”

“Just give it up already, Shitgeru,” Shirabu snickered. “You’re only digging a hole for yourself.”

“And what’s this?” his mother continued. Shirabu stopped laughing and stood up straight. “Bringing friends home this late? This is not how I raised you, Shigeru! Is it that hard to give me a call?”

“No, mom.” Yahaba was defeated. _I’ll never hear the end of this from Shirabu._

His mom sighed, then placed her hands on his hips. “You know I don’t like being stern. Just promise to call next time, alright? I was worried.”

“Yes, mom.”

“Good.” His mother stepped forward and ruffled Yahaba’s wet hair. “I’m going to hit the nest. I’ll see you two in the morning.”

“Wait,” Yahaba said. “So Shirabu can still stay over?”

“Why not? Besides, I can’t really ask him to return home in the middle of the night, can I? That would be a bad move on my part.”

His mother turned around and moved to the stairs, calling a cheery ‘good night!’ over her shoulder as she hopped upstairs. Then it was silent, and Yahaba glanced at Shirabu, who was looking at him as well. Shirabu started laughing.

“This is not how I raised you, Shigeru,” he echoed mockingly, attempting to pull his wet jacket from his bare arms, the fabric sticking to his skin.

“Shut up! It’s not like you don’t get lectured by your parents once in a while!”

“My parents aren’t around much,” Shirabu shrugged, dumping his soaked jacket on the heater nearby before kneeling down to untie his shoelaces. “Also, I don’t do rebellious things like staying out too late.”

“Your life must be so boring.”

“Well, it was. Until you came around.”

Yahaba stopped wriggling out of his jacket and stared at Shirabu, dumbstruck. He felt a blush creep onto his cheeks, and Shirabu chuckled once at the reaction, sounding surprised. “Wow. I didn’t think that would work.”

“Did you just attempt to flirt?” Yahaba couldn’t believe his eyes. Or ears.

“I was just stating the truth,” Shirabu said nonchalantly, but he averted his gaze, suddenly busying himself with his shoes. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Yahaba pointed out, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“That’s my line.”

Yahaba laughed. “Are you ready to go? I have some spare clothes for you.”

They trudged upstairs, and Yahaba felt the exhaustion slowly seep into him. It almost didn’t feel like he’d played two games and went out with friends this exact same day. 

While Shirabu changed clothes in the bathroom, Yahaba prepared the guest futon. For a split second he wondered if it was actually necessary, because in theory they _could_ sleep in the same bed-- 

He quickly banished the thought, feeling almost embarrassed. Knowing Shirabu, he probably wanted his own bed. Besides, Yahaba didn’t even know what they were to each other now. It was clear now they both liked each other that way -- Yahaba’s heart jumped at the thought -- but what did that _mean_? Did they have to change things now? What did you do in situations like these?

Shirabu slid into the room, wearing black sweatpants and a dark blue t-shirt, as Yahaba finished up his work. “I might be dry now, but fuck, I’m still freezing.”

Yahaba stood up and walked over to his desk chair, taking the white sweatpants and the loose tank top he wore as pyjamas off the back of it and changing into them quickly. “Do you need a hoodie? Or a blanket?”

“No thanks, I’ll be fine,” Shirabu insisted, crawling underneath the covers of his futon. “This will do.”

Yahaba sat down on his own bed, turning off the alarm on his phone before dropping it on his nightstand and making himself comfortable underneath the covers. He flicked off the night light, and the room was enveloped in darkness, save from the light emitted by the street lights peeking around the curtains.

“You know, it’s strange,” Shirabu said softly, rolling on his back and folding his arms underneath his head. “I’ve been thinking about it for days, but I still can’t remember how I got into bed the last time I was here.”

Yahaba’s thoughts travelled back to the memory of Shirabu falling asleep on his shoulder, and him carrying Shirabu to bed, and his cheeks reddened. He considered himself lucky it was too dark for Shirabu to notice his blush.

“I’m not sure you want to know,” he responded. 

Shirabu turned his head towards Yahaba, squinting his eyes to see his face in the near-darkness. “I didn’t do something weird, did I?”

“Depends on what you consider weird…”

“Just spit it out, Yahaba.”

“Okay, so you _might_ have fallen asleep on my shoulder when we were watching a movie, and--” Yahaba felt his blush deepen-- “I _might_ have put you in bed because I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Shirabu stared at Yahaba for a while before removing his arms from underneath his head, turning himself around abruptly and burying his face into his pillow. “Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing.” The words were muffled, but Yahaba could understand them well enough.

“Not at all,” Yahaba said, chuckling softly. “I actually thought it was kind of adorable.”

“Shigeru,” Shirabu groaned, “you’re not helping.”

Yahaba laughed. “I knew you’d react this way.”

“Why not wake me up, though?”

“Well, you seemed to need the rest. Who was I to disturb that?”

Shirabu lifted his head, folded his arms on his pillow, and rested his cheek on his arms, facing Yahaba with a disbelieving smile. “You’re too good for this world, Yahaba.”

“I wouldn’t say that--”

“Just take my word for it, Cream Puff,” Shirabu interrupted his protest, leaning up on his elbows and looking around the room. He spotted the pillows on Yahaba’s bed, out of his reach, and sighed. “Damn it, I have no ammo,” he cursed, and Yahaba realized he’d wanted to chuck a pillow at Yahaba to reinforce his statement. Classic.

Yahaba rolled his eyes. “Go to sleep, Shitabu. The pillows will still be there in the morning.”

“You only say that because I have no weapons right now, you coward,” Shirabu grunted. “Face my wrath.”

Yahaba chuckled. “Not now. It’s one in the morning.”

“Who cares?”

“Are you always this violent in the middle of the night?”

“Do you want me to suffocate you with my pillow when you sleep?” Shirabu stilled, and looked down on where his forearms rested on his pillow. “Oh right, I do have ammo.”

_“Shirabu.”_

“Okay, okay, _fine_.” Shirabu let himself fall on his pillow, his arms limply at his sides. “Good night, Yahaba.”

Yahaba smiled, and closed his eyes. “Good night, Shirabu.”

The exhaustion of that day slowly seeped into him, making his mind and body heavy. When he was just seconds away from falling asleep, Shirabu’s voice cut through the silence. 

“Yahaba,” he whispered sharply. 

“Go to sleep,” Yahaba mumbled, rolling over to face the wall. Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow?

“Yahaba,” Shirabu whispered again. When Yahaba didn’t react, he tried something else. “Shigeru.”

_“What?”_ he forced out exasperatedly. He heard Shirabu chuckle softly, and he turned around to give him a sour look. “What is it?”

“What are we?” Shirabu asked, lying on his side and leaning on an elbow.

Yahaba frowned. His brain was too foggy to function. “What do you mean?”

“Well..” Shirabu paused, collecting his thoughts, Yahaba assumed. “We were best friends before, but.. now that we know we both, you know, like each other.. What are we now?”

Yahaba tried to blink himself awake. “I don’t know,” he huffed, stifling a yawn. “Friends with benefits?”

Shirabu snorted. “That doesn’t mean what you think it means, Shitgeru.”

“For fuck’s sake. Just let me sleep.” Yahaba rolled over again, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. 

“But Yahaba--”

“I’m going to strangle you.”

“--does this mean we’re boyfriends now?”

Yahaba’s eyes flew open. He sat up slowly and looked Shirabu in the eye. Shirabu glanced down and started fidgeting with the covers, a slight frown appearing on his features. 

“Well, I mean,” Yahaba started, running a lazy hand through his hair and rubbing his eyes. “If you want us to be.”

Shirabu’s fingers curled into fists, trapping some of the fabric of the covers in his hands. “I don’t know.”

Yahaba yawned, and he quickly covered his mouth. “You don’t have to know yet. We can take it slow. Try things out ‘n stuff. Labels will come later.”

Shirabu nodded slowly, lowering himself on the pillow and closing his eyes. “Yeah. That sounds good.” He stirred a little, then stilled, sighing deeply. “Sleep well.”

Yahaba smiled, and lay down again. When his head touched the pillow, he nearly drifted off to sleep immediately. He closed his eyes and exhaled, almost melting into the bed.

“Sleep well, Kenjirou,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. I used that trope. Because I wanted to. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> You don't want to know how much time I spent staring at and editing the playground scene. I wanted to make sure it was written perfectly, and while I feel like it still isn't perfect, it's probably as good as it can get. For now. 
> 
> I'm so glad I finally got to this stage in the story because that means I can finally start writing THE FLUFF.
> 
> Oh, by the way, the past few days I've been dying to write a yahashira college au. I have a few ideas already, and I'm very excited to write that somewhere after this story is finished. Would you guys be in for that? Let me know!
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it! (fangirl with meee~ I know so little people who like yahashira and it pains me)
> 
> Comments/feedback are very much appreciated <3
> 
> See you at the next update!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy it's two am and I'm updating this fic because I have no life ;0
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for the kudos and comments!! You don't know how happy it makes me to see you're all enjoying what I create ^^
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this mess of an update!

The next morning, Yahaba woke up to something prodding his shoulder. He shied away from the touch, trying to travel back to the dream that had suddenly been interrupted, but a hand on his arm pulled him back to reality. 

“Yahaba,” someone whispered. “Wake up.”

Yahaba gave up the fight and rolled over slowly, turning to the voice and squinting through his eyelashes. Shirabu hovered over him, hand outstretched. The sunlight that streamed in around the closed curtains made a soft halo over his hair. Yahaba frowned slightly. _What time is it?_

“What’s wrong?” Yahaba asked, his voice croaky and low from sleep. Shirabu lowered himself onto the ground, folding his arms over the edge of Yahaba’s bed and leaning his chin on them. 

“Nothing, really,” he said softly. “I just thought it might be time to wake up.”

Yahaba groaned. “What are you, my mom?” He tried to roll back to face the wall again, but Shirabu’s hand grabbed his arm, keeping him in place. 

Shirabu chuckled. “No. But it might be worthy to note it’s nearly one in the afternoon.”

Yahaba sat up, making Shirabu shrink back a little, and checked his phone. The bright numbers said _12:56_. He cursed under his breath. 

“Also,” Shirabu continued dryly, “I’ve been awake since 10 am, and I can only keep myself entertained for so long.”

Yahaba pushed back a yawn, letting his phone fall back on the nightstand again. “I’m sorry. I don’t normally sleep in this late.”

“It’s fine,” Shirabu shrugged. “I was the one that kept you up late, after all.”

Yahaba hummed, thinking back to the previous day. So many things had happened, it almost seemed like a faded dream. He glanced at Shirabu, who was softly smiling up at him. Yahaba smiled back, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through his chest. _A dream come true, in a way._

Yahaba slid from his bed, stretching his arms above his head and running his fingers through his messy hair. “I guess I’ll get started on breakfa-- I mean, lunch, then.”

“It’s technically still breakfast,” Shirabu commented, getting to his feet. “But food is food.”

Yahaba chuckled softly. His fingers itched to _do_ something, and before he could change his mind he pushed through the tiny knot in his stomach and reached out, caressing Shirabu’s cheek with his knuckles. He turned around and made his way to the door before his blush became too obvious, his chest burning. 

“Feel free to use the bathroom however you wish. I’ll be downstairs,” Yahaba said. The moment before he closed the door behind him, he caught a glimpse of Shirabu, standing frozen in the middle of the room, eyes on the ground as his fingertips hovered over the skin Yahaba just touched. 

As Yahaba padded down the stairs, his head spinning just slightly, half of him wondered how he managed to make Shirabu that flustered, and the other half wondered if he could do it again. Yahaba bit his lip to keep his smile from spreading, entering the hallway and walking towards the kitchen. 

“Glad to see you’re finally up,” a voice sounded. Yahaba took a few steps back and peeked into the living room. His mother smiled at him from the couch, a book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. “I was a second away from coming up and dragging you out of bed myself. I can’t let you waste a beautiful Sunday like this.”

Yahaba rolled his eyes. “No need. Shirabu woke me up.”

“He did?” his mother asked, surprised, and hummed. “Maybe I should let him stay over more often, then.”

“Mom, please.”

“Don’t ‘mom’ me, Shigeru. It’s not like you mind having him around. I can tell you like him.”

Yahaba gulped. _Am I that obvious?_ “What? How?”

His mother giggled, and took a sip of her coffee. “A mother has her ways.”

Yahaba groaned, turning around and stomping into the kitchen, his mother’s laughter following him there. He gathered some utensils and ingredients -- turning on the radio for some background noise somewhere in the process -- and started mixing pancake batter. He sang along to the cheery song that played from the speakers as he went through the steps, dancing a little in his place, and spun in a circle when he stepped to a cupboard to grab a pan. 

The first pancake of the batch was well on its way to being perfectly golden brown when Yahaba turned around to grab some plates and noticed Shirabu leaning against the doorway, making him yelp and nearly drop the spatula he was holding. “How long have you been standing there?”

“A while,” Shirabu said bluntly, making Yahaba’s heart speed up. _So does that mean he saw--_

“You look cute when you dance,” he continued, and Yahaba was sure his heart popped into a million pieces of confetti inside his chest. He bit his lip and turned back to the pan as Shirabu sauntered into the kitchen and leaned against the kitchen island, close to the stove.

“Let me help you.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Yahaba said, his voice steadier than he expected it to be, considering his cheeks were still flaming. “I can bake pancakes just fine on my own.”

“I wasn’t questioning your pancake baking abilities,” Shirabu sighed. “You don’t have to make me breakfast every time I’m here. I can make my own.”

“Jeez, just let me treat you for once.” Yahaba flipped the pancake and grabbed the plates he intended to get before, setting them on the kitchen island. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

“You always treat me!” Shirabu countered. “Let me do something in return or I’ll feel guilty for using you to my advantage like that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not taking advantage of me. If you did, I would’ve kicked your ass a long time ago.” Yahaba lifted the pan from the stove and let the pancake slide on one of the plates he’d placed on the kitchen island. “Besides, I like treating you.”

He pushed the plate towards Shirabu, grabbing a knife and a fork from a drawer and sliding them across the counter. “Eat.”

Yahaba heard Shirabu sigh as he scooped batter into the pan in front of him. Then Shirabu took his plate and the cutlery and sat down on one of the stools behind the kitchen island.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Some syrup, maybe,” Shirabu said, inspecting the pancake in front of him. “And something to drink.”

“Oh, right, stupid,” Yahaba muttered, rummaging through one of the cupboards nearby. Did they even _have_ syrup? It’s been a while since he last made pancakes.. “Do you want bean water or regular water? Or something else, of course.”

Shirabu snorted. “Will you ever stop insulting coffee?”

Yahaba found the syrup and set it down in front of Shirabu. “I wasn’t insulting coffee.”

“Yahaba, please. I can hear you’re as bitter as the liquid you speak about.”

Yahaba rolled his eyes. “So what will it be?”

“A cup of coffee would be great, thanks,” Shirabu said, not taking his eyes off his pancake as he poured syrup all over it. 

“Bean water it is, then,” Yahaba mumbled, flipping the pancake that was frying on the stove before busying himself with Shirabu’s request.

When Yahaba was pouring freshly made coffee into a mug, Shirabu got up from his spot and grabbed the spatula lying next to the stove, quickly lifting the pancake out of the pan and dropping it onto a nearby plate. Yahaba raised an eyebrow, and Shirabu threw up his hands defensively, spatula still in his hand. “The pancake was burning.”

“Just sit down, I got this,” Yahaba sighed. Shirabu raised his eyebrows mockingly, as if saying _yeah, right_. Yahaba threw some fresh batter into the pan, trying to get Shirabu to sit back down and finish his pancake with a glare, but Shirabu didn’t budge. 

“At least let me watch that damn pancake as you eat breakfast, Shitgeru. I can’t let you stand there all afternoon.”

“Finish your fucking pancake, Shitabu. Let me have this,” Yahaba groaned, taking the spatula from Shirabu and pushing the mug of coffee in Shirabu’s hands. Shirabu set it on the kitchen island and stepped closer, making Yahaba move backwards until his back touched the counter behind him. Shirabu planted his hands on the counter on either side of Yahaba and leaned in until their noses nearly touched. Yahaba suddenly forgot how to breathe, and he nearly lost his grip on the spatula.

“Make me,” Shirabu whispered, a devious grin spreading on his lips. Yahaba felt Shirabu’s sweet breath on his face. For just a moment, Yahaba’s eyes flitted to Shirabu’s lips, and then back up to his eyes. That motion didn’t escape Shirabu, causing him to lean in even more, eyelids lowering just slightly. Yahaba was pretty sure the entire street could hear his heart pound in his chest.

A gasp sounded from the doorway, and Yahaba glanced past Shirabu to catch his mother fumbling with her empty cup in the entrance, grabbing it just before it crashed to the ground. Shirabu stepped back hastily and turned around, eyes wide. 

“Whoops,” Yahaba’s mother said quickly. “I hope I didn’t interrupt something there.”

Yahaba cleared his throat, feeling like he could breathe again now that Shirabu wasn't so close anymore. “You did.”

“Dang it.” His mother hurried to the sink, placing her empty cup in it before walking back out, calling “sorry! Sorry!” when she disappeared back into the living room.

Shirabu chuckled awkwardly as Yahaba covered his eyes with a hand, feeling his cheeks heat. _I’m never going to hear the end of that._

Shirabu grabbed his abandoned mug and took his place behind the kitchen island without another word as Yahaba busied himself with baking and eating pancakes simultaneously. The only sound between them was the radio spewing out summery pop songs as they filled their stomachs. Yahaba tried to keep himself from thinking back to the moment they had before his mother stumbled in, but he failed miserably. _Was he going to kiss me?_ His heart started thumping at the thought alone.

_Will he try again someday? Or should I make a move? Did he even_ want _to be kissed?_

“Do you want the last one?” Yahaba asked, lifting the pan suggestively. Shirabu shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee. “No, I’m good.”

Yahaba turned off the stove and unceremoniously dumped the pancake on his plate, taking that and the cup of tea he’d brewed somewhere in between to the place next to Shirabu on the kitchen island. He stabbed a piece of pancake and put it in his mouth as Shirabu put down his mug, just a few sips of coffee left. 

“I just don’t get how you can bear the taste of that stuff,” he said with his mouth full, looking pointedly at Shirabu’s mug. 

“The taste of it is more bearable than you trash talking it whenever you get the chance,” Shirabu countered without missing a beat, wiping some leftover syrup from his plate with his finger and putting it into his mouth. “Have you even tried coffee before?”

Yahaba thought it over, swallowing. “I’m not sure. Maybe once, but I can’t remember what it tasted like. You know, besides the bitterness.”

“You’re just biased because you like your leaf water better,” Shirabu said, rolling his eyes. “Do you want a taste?”

For the second time that day, Yahaba’s eyes went to Shirabu’s lips, and he nearly choked on his bite of pancake. Of course Shirabu noticed, and for a moment his lips curled in disgust. “Not like _that_ , you incompetent noodle. From the cup.”

Yahaba coughed, covering his mouth with a hand, and swallowed his food. He took a sip of tea to wash it down, and gave Shirabu an embarrassed smile. Shirabu shook his head in reply, exhaling through his nose. “Man, I knew you liked me, but I didn’t think you were that thirsty.”

“Oh my god, don’t make it worse,” Yahaba forced out, his voice somewhere between a groan and a whine.

Shirabu just downed the last of his coffee, all feigned innocence. _How could he be completely flustered one moment, and unbearably confident the next?_ It seemed to be a thing Yahaba could never hope to understand.

“Let me help you with the dishes,” Shirabu offered, taking his dishes to the sink. “You wash, I dry.”

Yahaba sighed in defeat and grabbed his dishes, dumping them in the sink before getting a towel for Shirabu. As they did the dishes together, Yahaba humming along with the songs on the radio, he couldn’t help but feel everything about this was strangely natural. He smiled to himself, grabbing a blob of soapsuds and blowing it in Shirabu’s face, who spluttered and cursed under his breath. 

“Hey!” he yelled, and Yahaba laughed loudly as he wiped the suds off his cheeks. “You’re fucking asking for it,” Shirabu growled, scooping some suds out of the sink and pushing them straight into Yahaba’s face before he could move away. This time it was Yahaba’s turn to splutter.

“It’s in my nose!” Yahaba cried out, and Shirabu doubled over with laughter. Yahaba rubbed the suds out of his eyes and splattered the remaining water and suds on his hands Shirabu’s way. Shirabu countered his attack by plunging his hands into the sink and flinging a handful of water on Yahaba’s face and chest. Yahaba yelped, and before he could do the same to Shirabu his mother’s voice broke through their water battle.

“Hey, keep it down!” she yelled from the living room. “I’d better not find a mess when I walk in there!”

“He started it,” Shirabu commented dryly, making Yahaba snort. He pushed a hand to his drenched chest, feigning hurt.

“This kind of betrayal is unacceptable.”

“You can’t deny the truth, Shitgeru.”

Yahaba rolled his eyes and started mopping up the spilled water with a different towel as Shirabu finished drying off the remaining dishes. When everything was cleaned up, they went back upstairs, and Yahaba quickly changed into a dry shirt. 

“So, what to do now?” Yahaba asked, letting himself fall onto the bed. To his surprise, Shirabu came to sit beside him, rather than taking a seat on the guest futon. He peeked up at Yahaba through his bangs, his eyes serious.

“I believe we have something to finish.”

“We do?” Yahaba said, sitting up, but when the words left his lips he realized what Shirabu was talking about, and his heart sped up just slightly. “Oh, right.”

Shirabu moved closer, and Yahaba froze just slightly. He let his eyes fall closed, and waited for Shirabu to make a move. He didn’t know what he’d expected from a moment like this, but it sure as hell wasn’t Shirabu bursting into laughter right in front of him. His eyes shot open again, and Yahaba frowned, confused.

“What?” Yahaba said quickly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Shirabu shook his head. “Your face,” he snickered. “It’s like you’re waiting for someone to slap you.”

Yahaba huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not my fault I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

Shirabu stopped laughing abruptly. “Wait, you haven’t?”

“That’s what I just said.” Yahaba felt a blush colouring his cheeks. _I probably shouldn’t have said that. How embarrassing._

“Huh.” Shirabu kept looking at Yahaba, as if trying to unravel a mystery, his brows slightly furrowed. “I’m not sure why I’m surprised.”

“Am I supposed to be offended by that?”

“No! I just thought a guy like you would’ve kissed someone before, that’s all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shirabu dragged a hand over his face. “Ugh, never mind. Forget I said that.”

There was a silence, and Yahaba dropped his hands in his lap. “Have you kissed anyone before?” he asked, almost timidly. Shirabu shook his head.

“Oh.” Yahaba chuckled once. “I’m not sure why I’m surprised either.”

“What?” Shirabu raised his eyebrows at Yahaba, a surprised smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You thought I had kissed people before?”

Yahaba shrugged and made the _I don’t know_ sound. He knew how ridiculous that idea sounded -- since Shirabu was more likely to roast people to ashes on the spot than flirt with them, of all things -- and yet it seemed obvious that someone as good-looking as Shirabu would have kissed or dated someone before. Getting to discover Shirabu was as new to this as Yahaba was, was both surprising and relieving, in a way.

“Yahaba,” Shirabu said softly. “Are you okay with me being your first kiss?”

Yahaba frowned. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.” Shirabu gave Yahaba a tight-lipped smile. “Maybe I’m just worrying too much.” 

Yahaba smiled back. “Honestly, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as my first kiss than you.”

Shirabu’s eyes went wide, and Yahaba could almost see him cover up his flustered state with words. “Well, let’s get it on, then.”

“Now who’s thirsty?” Yahaba chuckled, to which Shirabu replied with a venomous “shut up”.

Shirabu moved closer again, this time intertwining his fingers with Yahaba’s. It was almost like Shirabu was reassuring him, telling him not to be nervous, and at the same time it seemed like Shirabu wanted to anchor himself down as well. Yahaba raised his free hand and gently cupped Shirabu’s cheek before leaning in and pressing his lips lightly against Shirabu’s. It was simple and sweet, nothing more than a peck on the lips, but it left Yahaba’s heart racing in his chest all the same.

They both leaned back, and Yahaba stroked Shirabu’s cheek with his thumb once, twice, before letting his hand fall back into his lap, licking his lips. Shirabu said nothing, and stared at their intertwined fingers. He looked slightly displeased, and Yahaba prayed he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Well,” Shirabu sighed, “that was not as satisfying as I thought it would be.”

When Yahaba opened his mouth to speak, Shirabu silenced him with a look, and for a second Yahaba was baffled that Shirabu could shut him up just by glaring at him.

“It wasn’t you. I guess I just need to get used to this.”

“We have plenty of time,” Yahaba said, and then it dawned on him that he just had his first kiss. _What the fuck._

“But, truth be told, it was kind of underwhelming,” Yahaba continued, a smile tinging his voice. When Shirabu raised his eyebrows at him, Yahaba’s smile grew into a full-fledged grin. “I actually expected you to taste saltier.”

Before Yahaba knew it, Shirabu’s hand flew up and slapped him on the cheek. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to feel his skin sting after the impact.

“I deserved that, didn’t I?”

“You definitely did.”

Their eyes met, and not a second passed before both boys burst into laughter. Yahaba felt a wave of warmth of happiness spread through his body, and he wished he could hold onto that feeling forever.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Yahaba asked, biting his lip to keep himself from laughing.

“As long as it’s not Disney,” Shirabu replied. 

“What’s wrong with Disney?”

“Nothing.”

Yahaba didn’t feel like escalating this discussion. “Fine, then you choose something to watch.” He got up to turn on the tv, pulling his hand out of Shirabu’s, and immediately he missed the warmth. He found Netflix and chucked the remote Shirabu’s way, letting him choose a movie as he pulled the curtains closed for a better movie-watching atmosphere.

A few minutes later they sat side by side on Yahaba’s bed, pillows stacked up behind their backs and a light blanket covering their legs. As they watched the opening credits, Yahaba felt Shirabu’s fingers intertwine with his own, and Yahaba gave Shirabu’s hand a quick squeeze. Shirabu squeezed right back, and Yahaba smiled to himself, scooting slightly closer until their arms and legs touched. He leaned back against the pillows and sighed contently.

_Now_ this _is like living a dream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels so underwhelming compared to the previous one but I couldn't think of anything else *sobs*
> 
> At least it's a cute mess?? Yeah I'll try to come up with something better for the next update heh ;^;
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it!
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. contrary to popular belief... I'm actually not dead. Nor did I leave this story to rot. The fact is that motivation and inspiration left my brain to rot, so it left me stuck on one scene for days :/ Also, life was being difficult. In short, sorry for making you wait so long ;^;
> 
> Thank you all once again for keeping up with this story, for the nice comments. It warms my heart that people like what I write <3
> 
> I hope you'll all enjoy this update! (nnnn it's 2 am what am I doing)

School started again the following week, so in between homework and training, Yahaba didn’t have time to meet up with Shirabu every day anymore. They still texted often -- even called from time to time, despite that Shirabu had proclaimed he despised phone calls --, but Yahaba still missed the interaction they used to have. He missed being close to Shirabu. He missed holding his hand -- which was about as far as they went with physical contact at this point, but Yahaba didn’t mind taking his time.

They hadn’t kissed again since their first time. And the longer Yahaba was away from Shirabu, the more he longed to do it again. Which was, quite frankly, very annoying.

It was Friday, and training was just finishing up. Yahaba was gathering his things, a towel around his neck, humming a song he’d heard on the radio that morning, when he caught Kindaichi looking at him with an expression he’d seen multiple times that week and still hadn’t been able to recognize.

“If you have something to say, just spit it out, Kindaichi,” he muttered, fishing his phone from the pocket of his training jacket and checking it for messages. Nothing. He deflated a little, and pocketed the phone after he’d donned his jacket.

Kindaichi cleared his throat. “So, um. You’re doing better now?” It sounded like he’d concluded Yahaba was in fact doing better than before, but it came out like a question instead. 

Yahaba nodded either way. He thought back to the days before the first preliminaries, how everything had felt -- and ultimately been -- a disaster, and he cringed inwardly, realizing how awful he must have been.

“Sorry for being an ass before, by the way,” Yahaba said, pulling the towel from his neck and fidgeting with the fabric. “I wasn’t myself. Which you probably noticed.”

Kindaichi snorted. “ _Everyone_ noticed, Yahaba. Watari was super freaked out.” When Yahaba frowned, Kindaichi gave him an apologetic smile. “But it’s all fine, don’t worry. I’m glad you’re, uh, back to normal.”

Yahaba smiled back at him. “Thanks.”

“So, uh, does this mean you figured things out with your.. friend? Got things straight and stuff?”

Yahaba chuckled once. “A better way of phrasing it is that we got things gay.”

Kindaichi’s expression changed into what Yahaba could only describe as an amused, yet confused frown. “What?”

Yahaba let his gaze travel over the gym, empty save for them and a few stray teammates finishing up. He saw Oikawa talking with their coach -- talking plans and strategies, Yahaba assumed -- and Iwaizumi stood next to him, nodding along, his hand on the small of Oikawa’s back. 

“I ran into him as I walked home from where we had ramen after the prelims last Saturday. I got him to sit down with me somewhere to talk things out, and it appears he likes me too.”

Kindaichi’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling. “Wow, really? That’s great!”

“Yeah, it is,” Yahaba said, smiling to himself.

“So..” Kindaichi dragged out the word. “Are you guys boyfriends now?”

Yahaba’s eyes darted back to Kindaichi. “Ah, um. Not really?”

Kindaichi frowned. “You don’t sound so sure.”

“We’re taking things slow.” Yahaba ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I should talk to him about this. I’m not really sure what he wants to do next. Though he still seems to enjoy my company--” 

Yahaba cut himself off, realizing that he was rambling. “Never mind that. I’m going to change. See you in a bit.”

~~~

Later, Yahaba made his way to the school gates with his friends, Watari talking animatedly about one epic save he made during training. Despite that it was already late in the afternoon, the sun was still shining brightly above them, and Kunimi sighed behind Yahaba, shielding his eyes with his hand.

“I wish it was autumn. This hot weather is awful.”

“I really like summer, actually,” Watari chirped, switching subject in a matter of seconds. “Hey, we should go to the beach together someday!”

“If the heat is bad here, it’s even worse on the beach, Watari,” Kunimi pointed out, seeming uncomfortable just thinking about it.

“Actually,” Kindaichi cut in, “it’s probably colder there because of the wind. And you can swim in sea to cool off.”

“But I hate swimming.”

“You hate everything, Kunimi-kun,” Watari countered, dragging out the last syllable and grinning at Kunimi, who rolled his eyes.

“Seriously though,” Yahaba said, trying to put a stop to the bickering. “It sounds like a great idea. When do we want to go?”

“I’m not going,” Kunimi stated.

“Yes, you’re going,” Kindaichi decided for him, throwing him a look. Kunimi wrinkled his nose, but didn’t comment.

“How about this Sunday?” Watari asked. “School just started, so the homework load isn’t that big yet. And the weather is going to be perfect.”

“That doesn’t sound bad,” Yahaba mused. “Everyone in?”

“I’m in!” Kindaichi and Watari called out in chorus, while Kunimi sighed and said, “fine.”

Watari cheered. “I’m so excited! But how are we going to get there? By train?”

“Sounds fine to me,” Kindaichi said. “It’s either that or someone’s mom driving us there.”

“Train it is, then,” Yahaba decided, not exactly looking forward to being squished in a stuffy backseat for as long as it took to get to the beach. “Let’s discuss the details over Skype tonight, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

“All right!”

“Whatever.”

Yahaba focused his gaze on the school gates, now only a few meters away, and stopped in his tracks. Standing there, leaning against the gates, bag slung over his shoulder, was Shirabu. His thumbs were hooked in the pockets of his shorts, and once his eyes met Yahaba’s, he quickly glanced at his shoes.

“Who’s that?” Watari asked, eyeing Shirabu. “I haven’t seen him around here before.”

“I might have an idea,” Kunimi said, nudging Yahaba out of his frozen state with his elbow. Yahaba walked over to Shirabu, clearing his throat. He could hear his friends share hushed words behind him, and he tried his best to ignore them. _Gossiping about me when I’m not even out of earshot yet. How flattering._

“What are you doing here?” Yahaba said as a way of greeting, wrapping his fingers around the strap of his bag. He felt the stares of his friends burning on his back, and it made him jittery.

Shirabu raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, no!” Yahaba’s hands shot out in front of him to emphasize his point. “I was just wondering, is all..”

Shirabu’s eyes darted back and forth between Yahaba’s gaze and the ground beneath him once, twice before settling somewhere in the distance behind Yahaba. “Training finished early, so I came to pick you up.” 

A simple shrug accompanied Shirabu’s words, but Yahaba could tell by Shirabu’s demeanor that his decision to come here wasn’t as casual as he made it out to be. 

“Oh.” _He came to see me? Because he wanted to see me? Does that mean he missed me too?_

Yahaba pulled his lips into a teasing grin. “Aww, did someone miss me?” he drawled, trying to cover up the sudden wave of butterflies in his stomach.

Shirabu caught Yahaba’s gaze before he rolled his eyes so far back Yahaba feared they might fall out. “You’re horrible. But if you really need me to spell it out.. Yes, I missed you.”

Yahaba blinked, his grin falling away, and he could almost feel his brain short-circuiting at the words. Shirabu’s eyes flitted back to the ground, as if it hadn’t been easy to say what he said. No matter what the circumstances were, the fact that Shirabu had missed him -- and had admitted it to Yahaba’s face, no less -- made Yahaba’s heart thump loudly in his chest.

Yahaba opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by his friends, apparently having decided that now was the right time to trash the party.

“So,” Watari butted in, drawing out the syllable. “Is this the mystery guy you’ve been talking about?”

Yahaba watched Shirabu’s brows knit together in confusion and what Yahaba thought was just a tiny bit of disgust. Yahaba quickly covered his eyes with his hand, and couldn’t stop himself from whispering a disappointed ‘oh my god’ under his breath.

“Jesus, Watari,” Kunimi cursed in a low, somewhat disinterested voice. “Don’t you have any kind of filter?”

“I do, but I didn’t feel the need to use it just now.”

“ _Mystery guy_?” Shirabu butted in, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Yahaba from the corners of his eyes. “Have you been gossiping about me?”

“No!” Yahaba assured him quickly. “But I may have.. told them about your existence..”

“Nice cover,” Kindaichi muttered dryly, gaining him an elbow in the side from Kunimi. 

Shirabu exhaled through his nose and shook his head slightly, seeming to decide to drop the issue. “Are these guys your teammates?” he asked Yahaba.

“Yeah,” Yahaba affirmed. “Watari, Kindaichi, and Kunimi,” he introduced his friends, pointing at each person respectively. 

“Watari Shinji at your service,” Watari called out, raising his hand to his forehead in a mock salute, as Kindaichi greeted him with a casual ‘hey’ and Kunimi bowed politely. 

Shirabu lowered his head in a bow. “Nice to meet you. I’m Shirabu.”

“Okay, so,” Yahaba said, adjusting the strap of his sports bag hanging from his shoulder, “now that everyone’s been properly introduced, Shirabu and I will be going now.” 

He looked all of his friends in the eye, urging them not to joke or pry with a glare. He knew very well that he was being a bit rude, deciding to leave so abruptly, but he really, _really_ wanted some time alone with Shirabu right now. Also, he was pretty sure that if he stayed any longer, they would start teasing him about Shirabu, which was the opposite of what he wanted to deal with.

Shirabu raised his eyebrows at him, as if he was saying, _we are?_

Kindaichi and Kunimi shared a look. “All right, then,” Kindaichi said. “See you tomorrow.”

Yahaba took that as his cue to leave, stepping back and grabbing Shirabu’s wrist, dragging him along while he hastily threw a ‘bye’ over his shoulder. Shirabu didn’t say anything and let himself be pulled without protesting. 

“Okay, we’ll talk later then!” Watari called after him. 

Yahaba kept walking, Shirabu following silently until he rounded a corner and slowed his pace, letting go of Shirabu’s wrist and reaching for his hand instead. Shirabu pulled his hand away and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans, the action making Yahaba deflate just slightly.

“You’re acting strange,” Shirabu remarked, voice low.

“I am?” Yahaba asked, fully aware that he was, in fact, acting weird. _I should apologize to them for leaving so quickly._

“You are,” Shirabu affirmed, keeping his eyes on the ground as he walked. 

Yahaba took in Shirabu’s frame, the way he distanced himself just slightly from Yahaba. “Is something bugging you?”

Shirabu’s shoulders slumped a little. “Maybe,” was his only response.

Yahaba gently grabbed his lower arm, pulling him to a stop. “Tell me.”

Shirabu met his gaze before averting his own to the ground. “If you feel embarrassed having me around when you’re with your friends you can just say so, you know.”

_What?_

“Embarrassed?” Yahaba echoed, completely baffled. “Why would I be embarrassed?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you _subtly_ pulling me away as soon as your friends came walking over,” Shirabu snapped, eyes darting up to glare at Yahaba. “I barely even spoke to them, but apparently that was enough for you to want to leave so suddenly.”

“Wait a second,” Yahaba said, trying to get some order in the chaos of thoughts ravaging his mind. “You think I left because I was _ashamed_ of you?”

Shirabu’s angered frown slowly faded into one of worry. “Am I wrong for thinking that?”

Yahaba found himself smiling, relieved for a reason he couldn’t quite grasp. “Not to be blunt, but yes, you are.”

“Oh,” was Shirabu’s reply, his shoulders losing the tension they’d built up in his anger. He started fidgeting with the tape on his fingers, eyes on his hands as he toyed with the edges. 

“Look at me,” Yahaba murmured, lifting Shirabu’s chin with his fingers and locking eyes with him, making sure he got the message across. “I left so soon because, well, I couldn’t wait to be alone with you. I didn’t have the chance to say it, but I missed you, too. More than I’d like to admit. If anything, I’m ashamed of myself for wanting to be with you so badly.”

Shirabu’s smile was pained. “I’m sorry. For assuming. I guess I’m just tired.”

Yahaba’s fingers travelled up Shirabu’s jaw and lingered on his cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”

Shirabu lifted his hand and placed it over Yahaba’s, keeping his hand in place on his cheek. His smile turned soft, and Yahaba felt a bubble of warmth swell in his chest until it was near bursting. After a few seconds, he grabbed Yahaba’s hand and removed it from his skin, interlacing his fingers with Yahaba’s instead.

“Let’s get going,” he said. “Unfortunately, I still have homework to do.”

“Me too,” Yahaba muttered, disgust apparent in his voice, as they started making their way to the playground. “Spare time is hard to find these days.”

“Not if you just don’t sleep,” Shirabu deadpanned.

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

Shirabu laughed. “What do you think I need the coffee for?”

“Should I be worried?”

“You say that as if you’re not already worrying about me.”

“You got me there.”

Once they arrived at the playground, Shirabu walked over to the tree they’d sat under the day Yahaba had confessed and made himself comfortable in the shade of the leaves. He crossed his legs underneath him and pulled a textbook and a notebook out of his bag. When Yahaba raised an eyebrow, he said, “What? I told you I had homework. It’s either this or doing it at home. You know, alone.”

Yahaba sat down beside him as Shirabu rummaged through his bag, probably in search of something to write with. “What a model student you are,” Yahaba teased.

Shirabu dug out a pencil. “I didn’t get into Shiratorizawa by slacking off.”

“Hold on, I thought most sports players got in via a sports scholarship.” Yahaba fished a water bottle out of his bag and took a few sips.

Shirabu leafed through the textbook until he found the page he was looking for. “I’m the only person on the team who didn’t get in with a sports scholarship.”

Yahaba couldn’t stop himself from spitting out the water he was drinking, spraying it all over himself. Shirabu gave him a look that seemed to convey both surprise and disappointment, rubbing some stray drops off his skin.

“You have a flair for dramatics, don’t you, Yahaba?”

Yahaba wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Really? The only one?”

“You heard what I said.”

Yahaba twisted the cap back on his water bottle, preventing himself from accidentally spilling more water on himself. “Honestly, of all the people I would have expected to get in without a scholarship, I didn’t think it would be you.”

“Am I supposed to be offended?”

“Jesus, Shirabu. I’m just saying I thought you’d be good enough to enter with a scholarship.”

Shirabu twiddled with his pencil. “Apparently _they_ thought I wasn’t. But no matter what they thought back then, right now I’m where I’ve always wanted to be. And I worked my ass off to get there.”

Yahaba smiled. “Such strength and determination. That’s very admirable.”

Shirabu chuckled once, voice low. “I just did what I had to do.”

“I’m just wondering, though,” Yahaba began, leaning back against the tree and looking up at the leaves hanging above him. “Why Shiratorizawa? I mean, when you couldn’t get in with a scholarship, why didn’t you try a different school?”

“I wanted to be where the strong players were. I wanted to be on a strong team, so I worked for it.”

Yahaba snorted disapprovingly. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but there are plenty strong teams other than Shiratorizawa.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Shirabu put the pencil down and started tearing off the tape on his fingers. “When I was in middle school, I watched a match between Shiratorizawa and Kitagawa Daichii. And no matter what the opposing team did, no matter what kind of tricks or strategies they used, Shiratorizawa powered through them without any hesitation or struggle.”

Shirabu let his gaze wander over the playground, and Yahaba watched him intently as he continued. “Of course a team can’t win just by having lots of powerful players. But it’s true that more powerful players have an edge on people who aren’t as powerful. That kind of strength, that ability to burst through a block as if there was no block in the first place.. It was a strength I wanted to surround myself with. So I came to Shiratorizawa, even changed my playing style to maximize that strength, and, well, here I am.”

“I’ve always wondered about the way you play as a setter,” Yahaba mused, shooting Shirabu a glance. “It’s the thing I first noticed about you. It’s like.. like you’re only stepping out of the shadows to set up to the ace or the hitter, and then fade back in. It’s hard to describe. It’s like you’re only there to give them the ammo they need to burst through.”

Shirabu cocked his head to the side, eyes curious. “That’s one way to describe it, I suppose. I don’t stand out as a setter, in the sense that I don’t do flashy plays our complicated strategies. But often, especially on a strong team like Shiratorizawa, it’s not necessary to depend on those things. Like my rotten coach always says, simplicity is the best strength.”

Shirabu finished pulling off the sports tape, and he stretched and wriggled his fingers. “All that is asked of me is to get the ball to the people that lead the attack.” His eyes were intense as they focused on Yahaba. “And all I do is deliver.”

Yahaba exhaled, and just then he realized he hadn’t been breathing. Shirabu had a knack for telling stories, it turned out.

Yahaba tried and failed to organize the jumble of thoughts in his mind. “That’s.. wow. That’s amazing.”

Shirabu blinked. “Not really.”

“Stop downplaying it,” Yahaba ordered. “It’s really amazing. It’s extraordinary in its own way. _You’re_ extraordinary, Kenjirou.”

Shirabu’s eyes went wide at the sound of his first name. Yahaba opened his mouth to apologize, to ask him if it was okay to use his first name so casually, but before he could say anything, Shirabu lifted a finger and pressed it against Yahaba’s mouth, silencing him. Shirabu lowered his gaze, looking at nothing in particular as he thought about things Yahaba couldn’t even begin to grasp.

“Say that again,” Shirabu said, removing his finger from Yahaba’s lips and looking at him expectantly.

“You’re extraordinary, Kenjirou,” Yahaba repeated with a smile. 

Shirabu looked down again, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “This is going to sound immensely stupid and corny, but I like the sound of my name when you say it.”

Yahaba’s heart sped up in his chest. After a few seconds, he said, “You’re right, that is immensely stupid and corny.”

“Go choke, Shigeru.”

Yahaba laughed. “But,” he continued, “I feel the same thing when you say mine.”

Shirabu raised an eyebrow. “Huh,” was the only thing he said.

“Can I say another immensely stupid and corny thing?”

Shirabu eyed him with suspicion, but his smile gave him away. “Go ahead.”

“I really want to kiss you right now, Kenjirou.”

Shirabu chuckled, probably more out of surprise than amusement. “How blunt.” He set his school supplies away, still unused since he’d pulled them out of his bag, and moved to face Yahaba with his whole body. “But I’d be happy to oblige.”

Encouraged, Yahaba reached out and pulled Shirabu towards him until he got the hint and climbed on Yahaba’s lap, knees on either side of Yahaba. Shirabu ran his fingers through Yahaba’s hair -- Yahaba closed his eyes at the feeling of his nails scraping gently at his scalp. _Oh, how nice that felt_ \-- before they settled on Yahaba’s jaw, keeping Yahaba’s face in place as Shirabu leaned in and pressed onto Yahaba’s lips with his own. 

Yahaba’s hands travelled up Shirabu’s back, settling on his shoulder blades. The kiss went deeper than it had during the first time, and Yahaba could feel it right in his core. It ignited something inside him, something that wanted Shirabu closer, that wanted to stay close to him as long as he possibly could.

When Shirabu pulled away, Yahaba went in again, but this time to kiss the tender spot right underneath his ear. Shirabu angled up his head just as Yahaba’s lips made contact with his skin, as if to give him better access, and let his fingers slide to Yahaba’s chest, hovering over Yahaba’s rapidly beating heart.

Deciding that was enough for now, Yahaba pulled back again and caught Shirabu’s gaze. His eyes were half-closed, but clear and sharp, and Yahaba was relieved to see there was nothing like discomfort or alarm to find. 

“That,” Shirabu said, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “was definitely different from last time.” 

“Satisfied?” Yahaba asked, a lazy grin appearing on his face. His hands left Shirabu’s back, and he lifted one of them to settle in Shirabu’s neck, fingers playing with the soft strands of hair. 

“I could get used to this.”

Shirabu sat back and scooted off Yahaba’s lap. Before Yahaba could complain or protest, Shirabu settled down in a way that allowed him to place his head on Yahaba’s lap. Content once again, Yahaba let his fingers explore Shirabu’s hair, and Shirabu closed his eyes. 

“I wish I had a backstory as cool as yours,” Yahaba muttered offhandedly. Shirabu snorted, but didn’t comment.

Yahaba frowned as he let his gaze travel over the playground, feeling a bitter taste settle on his tongue. “I like volleyball a lot, but I can’t say my life revolves around it. I’m just a bench kid, after all. I’m pretty average.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Shirabu said, opening his eyes and looking up at him. “You’re a great setter, you know that. And you’ll be a great captain next year.”

Yahaba chuckled once, humorlessly. “I remember when I came home after I chose to accept the offer of becoming captain,” he said, playing with Shirabu’s hair while his mind wandered back to the memory. “My parents were _ecstatic_ , meaning that they distractedly told me ‘that’s nice, dear’ before turning back to what they were doing.”

Yahaba didn’t quite understand why he felt the need to tell Shirabu this, but while Shirabu’s story was inspiring, it also hit a nerve for some reason. Shirabu was destined for greatness; Yahaba was destined to be as great as he could manage to become before his time ran out.

“That’s a sucky thing to do,” Shirabu remarked, grabbing Yahaba’s free hand and toying with his fingers. 

Yahaba shrugged. “My parents don’t really care about my volleyball stuff. In fact, they’ve made it clear that they’d rather see me drop the whole thing and spend the time on studying instead, because I’m benched most of the time. I’m not going to do that, because volleyball is the one part of my life I don’t want to give up, and I’d gladly disappoint my parents so I can be happy, but.. It stings nonetheless.”

“I’m sorry,” Shirabu said softly, sitting up and making himself comfortable beside Yahaba, sitting close enough that their shoulders touched. He grabbed Yahaba’s hand, stroking Yahaba’s fingers with his thumb.

“It’s fine. I can live with it.”

“When you’re captain next year, you should invite them to watch a game. During the next Interhigh, maybe. Show them what you’re made of, what this means to you. Trust me, they’ll get it after they’ve seen you play.”

Yahaba glanced over to see Shirabu look down fondly at their interlaced fingers, smiling just slightly. “I’ll never forget,” he continued, “the way you cheered for your team even though you were on the brink of losing. That kind of faith in your teammates, that passion for the game..”

Shirabu looked up, smiling at Yahaba. “That stuck with me. It will stick with your parents, too.”

Shirabu only seemed a tiny bit surprised when Yahaba flung out his arms and pulled him into a hug. Shirabu didn’t move, just stroked his hands up and down Yahaba’s back, leant Yahaba his strength until Yahaba found his own again. 

“I’m so lucky to have you,” he murmured in Shirabu’s shoulder. “So damn lucky.”

Shirabu leaned back, shook his head at Yahaba with a small smile. “No. It’s the other way around, really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *no homework was done during this chapter*
> 
> Honestly, I wrote 3/4 of this chapter this day, and when I started I had no idea I'd end up where I ended up. I was planning to write the beach trip, but then I got carried away. Shit happens ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ But! I'll have the beach trip written for you in the next chapter, so you have something to look forward to :D
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it! (also if you follow me you'll probably know when it's going to take longer for me to update because you bet your ass you'll find me ranting there heh. just so you know)
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated <3 (like, very, veeeery much appreciated. like, _I'll think of your sweet words all day_ appreciated)
> 
> See you next time ^^


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, I just love to keep you guys waiting, don't I? (I'm sorry I'm on a holiday right now and I've been taking my sweet time writing this whoops)
> 
> Anywayy, I'm here now! And thank you all once again for keeping up with this story and leaving such lovely comments <3 
> 
> Also, once again I've been lucky enough to have someone make fanart for me and my story! You can find it here: http://fiat-lux-calamitatis.tumblr.com/post/164078076660/fanart-for-chuuchuuyaas-wonderful-fic-of-all-the  
> Many thanks and a ton of hugs for the person who made this!! I'm unbelievably grateful <3
> 
> The longer I spent looking at this monster chapter I've created (result of too many ideas being poorly executed and poorly edited) the more I started disliking it, so I'm just throwing it out there for you guys to judge. I hope this chapter was worth the long wait!!

Shirabu opened his eyes to his nose and cheek being squished against his folded arm and the edge of his desktop digging into his ribs. He sat upright, trying to work the knots out of his tight shoulders, and concluded he’d fallen asleep while doing his homework. He frowned down at his math exercises, the last string of characters interrupted mid-number. _Model student, my ass._

He rubbed his eyes, groaning softly in annoyance, and reached for his phone to check the time just as the thing started ringing. Yahaba’s name popped up, and Shirabu raised his eyebrows as he noticed the time in the corner of screen. _What is he doing, calling this late?_

Shirabu leaned forward again, resting his chin on his arm as he pushed a button and put his phone to his ear. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Yahaba’s silence on the other side was short-lived. “Isn’t it a bit too early to be this cranky?”

“Isn’t it a bit too late to bother me?” Shirabu bit back, a smile lacing through his voice. He could’ve sworn he heard _laughter_ in the background before Yahaba replied, but he chose to ignore it in case he’d just imagined it. 

“I have something to ask you,” Yahaba said, finally getting to the point. 

“Hit me,” Shirabu muttered, repressing the urge to ask why it couldn’t wait until tomorrow. He stifled a yawn, and, convinced he wasn’t going to touch his unfinished homework again -- since it was passed 10 p.m and his brain felt completely and utterly fried --, he pushed away from his desk and let himself collapse onto his bed. He _could_ have gotten it done sooner, but Yahaba had been distracting him for too long that afternoon. 

Thinking back to the way they’d kissed, Shirabu wasn’t sure if that was an unfortunate thing. The memory made something in his chest blossom, and Shirabu smiled to himself.

“So, me and my friends are going to the beach this Sunday,” Yahaba began, his voice sounding a bit too tight for it to be casual. “And I was wondering if you wanted to tag along?”

“I can’t imagine a worse place to spend an insufferable summer day than on the beach,” Shirabu said, wrinkling his nose. “Why’d you wanna go there?”

Yahaba was silent, and in that moment Shirabu heard a voice on the other side of the line going, “See, I’m not the only one!”. Shirabu frowned. “Is there someone with you? What are you doing?”

“Well,” Yahaba started, his voice unusually low and bitter, “my _friends_ here dared me to invite you along during our Skype call. But _apparently_ they can’t keep their fucking mouths shut.”

Shirabu opened his mouth to speak, but Yahaba continued before he could make a noise. “Oh, and you’re on speaker right now. Just so you know.”

Shirabu’s face fell into a glare at nothing in particular. “How..” He trailed off, searching for the right word. “Delightful,” he finished, and he heard multiple people burst into laugher on the other side. Yahaba sighed audibly into the receiver.

“I’m sorry you had to suffer through this,” he said, over his friends’ laughter and mocking. 

Shirabu sat upright, crossing his legs underneath him. “Trust me, compared to late-night homework sessions and training, this is like a walk in the park.”

Yahaba chuckled, and Shirabu couldn’t help but smile at the sound. 

“So,” Yahaba began, when he’d finally managed to get his friends to quiet down, “will you be coming with us this Sunday?”

Shirabu reached for the tape on his fingers out of habit, then realized he’d removed it hours ago. He chose to fidget with the rims of his socks instead. “Are your friends okay with that?”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if they weren’t okay with that,” Yahaba pointed out. “Besides, they insisted on witnessing your reaction to the question, so I bet they won’t mind having you around. To be honest, chances are they’ll interrogate you all day long.”

Shirabu hummed. “That sounds like a pain in the ass rather than a fun trip.”

“Do you really have to be like this?”

“That’s what you get for calling me this late, Shitgeru.”

Yahaba said nothing, and Shirabu heard a voice pipe up in the background: “Wait, did he just call you ‘Shitgeru’? That’s genius, why didn’t I come up with that?”

“Kindaichi,” Yahaba muttered. “I will murder you.”

“I’d like to see this murderous Yahaba you’re channeling right now,” Shirabu said, his gaze wandering over to the window, to the sky that was minutes away from turning completely dark. “Alright, I’m coming with you.”

“Really?” Yahaba’s voice rose a pitch.

“No, actually I’d rather train for 24 hours straight, then roll into bed and mummify myself, using the covers and my own sweat, to prepare for a thousand-year nap.”

“You sure are imaginative at this time of day,” Yahaba commented dryly, as his friends started chuckling in the background. “But I’m glad you’re coming. I’ll text you the details later.”

“Okay.” Shirabu yawned. “I guess I’ll see you Sunday, then.”

“See you then.” Yahaba’s voice softened. “Sleep well.”

Shirabu smiled, then ended the phone call. He stretched out his legs and let himself fall back onto his bed. His eyes fell closed, layers and layers of exhaustion dropping onto him like blankets, and the last thought he had before he drifted off to sleep was that he was going to need a shit ton of sunscreen.

~~~

They’d agreed to meet in front of the train station, and as Shirabu rounded the one remaining corner, he noticed he was the last one to arrive. The four other boys stood in a circle a few meters away from the main entrance, and the bald boy Shirabu believed was called Watari started waving at him excitedly the moment he spotted Shirabu. Shirabu waved back, somewhat shyly for his standards.

“Glad you’ve finally decided to join us,” Yahaba said, crossing his arms in mock annoyance. “Is that why you’re late?” he continued, eyeing the steaming styrofoam cup Shirabu was holding. 

“You can’t demand of me to show up at nine in the morning and be surprised I’m bringing liquid energy,” Shirabu pointed out. “Besides--” he made a show out of whipping his phone from his pocket and showing Yahaba it was 9 am on the dot-- “I’m not late. You’re just early.”

“Can you stop the bickering, please? It’s too early for this,” the boy with the dark parted hair said, his voice low and slightly lifeless. _What was his name again?_

“Something tells me they’re going to bicker all day,” that other boy remarked, the one with the hair stuck up like gravity pulled it upwards instead of towards the center of the earth. Shirabu racked his brain in search for his name, cursing himself for having a shit show for a memory, and somehow found time to wonder how much gel it took to keep that guy’s hair pointing up like that.

“Okay guys,” Yahaba interjected, seeming to ignore the others’ comments entirely. “The train will arrive in five minutes. Let’s get going. Kunimi, get your stuff.”

“Aye aye,” the boy -- Kunimi -- sighed, hoisting a giant, tall bag over his shoulders that had been resting on the ground.

Shirabu raised his eyebrows. “What’s in that thing?”

“A parasol,” Kunimi said, starting to follow the other guys into the station. Shirabu hurriedly caught up. “I wouldn’t survive an entire day in the burning sun without one.”

“Isn’t that, like, really heavy?” Shirabu asked.

“I’d rather drag this thing along than burn to a crisp.”

“You’re a hero, honestly.” Shirabu eyed the heavy bag. “Would you mind sharing that?”

Kunimi glanced at Shirabu, a small smile playing on his lips. “Only if I get some of whatever you’re having,” he said, pointing at Shirabu’s coffee.

“Deal.” He handed Kunimi the cup as the group made its way to the right platform, Yahaba chatting casually with Watari and that other boy-- _Kindaichi_ , Shirabu remembered now. He repositioned the snapback on his head and searched for something to fidget with. Shirabu wasn’t entirely sure how he should act around Yahaba’s friends yet. Normally he didn’t worry about that kind of thing much, but since these guys were _Yahaba’s friends_ , he felt like he’d have to leave a good impression. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

“Um, it’s black coffee, by the way,” Shirabu said quickly, before Kunimi put the cup to his lips. “Nothing but bean water, as Yahaba calls it.”

“That’s fine, I drink it black too,” Kunimi reassured him, taking a sip.

They arrived at the platform, and Yahaba looked at Shirabu and Kunimi, walking side by side, Kunimi still holding Shirabu’s coffee. He chuckled once. “Looks like you’re going to get along just fine.” He glanced at the coffee and wrinkled his nose.

Shirabu pointed at him. “Don’t. I’ve had enough of your shit talk. Just let me have my fucking coffee.”

Yahaba rolled his eyes, raising his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay.”

“What did he do now?” Kindaichi asked, somewhat exasperatedly, raising an eyebrow at Shirabu’s pointing finger.

Shirabu shrugs. “Whenever I drink coffee around him he feels the need to insult it. As if it’s any worse than the garbage he drinks.”

“He drinks it black!” Yahaba felt the need to point out. “What kind of demon does that?”

“Me,” Shirabu and Kunimi said at the same time.

“What’s so bad about drinking coffee like that?” Watari asked, seeming genuinely confused.

“Yahaba’s probably too bitter to handle the taste,” Shirabu teased, grinning at Yahaba.

“This is what the real world tastes like, Yahaba,” Kunimi said, raising his cup. He took another sip, then offered it to Shirabu. Shirabu took it gratefully and lifted it to his lips, letting the warm liquid run down his throat.

Yahaba was kept from replying by the arrival of the train they were supposed to take. That didn’t stop him from throwing dirty looks at all of his friends, though, his gaze lingering on Shirabu before he shrugged his messenger bag further up his shoulder and entered the train.

They found two empty sets of two seats facing each other, and Shirabu hesitated, debating if he should offer to take a seat on the other side of the aisle so Yahaba and his friends could sit together. Before he could say anything, though, Kunimi slid into a seat on the other side, unceremoniously dumping his giant bag on the window seat before sitting down next to it. Shirabu looked over to the other seats, where Yahaba sat by the window and patted the empty spot beside him suggestively. Shirabu sighed and sat down, wedging his bag between his feet on the ground. 

The train lurched forward, and started gaining speed. Shirabu’s gaze drifted towards the window, and he watched the scenery move by, taking sips from his cup until it was drained.

Shirabu glanced at the boys across from him as he chucked his empty cup in the small garbage bin attached to the wall underneath the window. Watari was showing Kindaichi something on his phone, and Kunimi seemed to be dozing in his seat. If Shirabu was honest with himself, he felt a bit out of place between the others. While that wasn’t exactly unusual, this time it bothered him more than he’d like to admit.

Something touched his hand, and Shirabu jumped slightly. Looking down, he noticed Yahaba’s fingers hovering over the back of his hand. A request, an offer. Shirabu turned over his hand, letting Yahaba intertwine his fingers with Shirabu’s. He saw Yahaba smile at him from the corners of his eyes, and Shirabu smiled in return, a feeling of warmth and safety spreading through his chest.

“Wow, guys, keep it in your pants,” Kindaichi remarked dryly, eyeing their joined hands. Shirabu raised an eyebrow, keeping his face unamused, while Yahaba rolled his eyes at the comment.

“Are you jealous, Kindaichi-kun?” Yahaba teased, giving Shirabu’s hand a tiny squeeze.

Kindaichi scrunched up his nose. “What? No! Just, you know, keep that shit private or something,” he exclaimed hurriedly, waving his hand as if to dismiss the issue. Shirabu glanced at Yahaba, wondering if he was missing something, but Yahaba just shrugged, seemingly not knowing what was going on either. Even Kunimi, who seemed like a pretty aloof person to Shirabu, raised his eyebrows quizzically at Kindaichi, who was pointedly looking out the window.

Shirabu waited until he was able to catch Kindaichi’s gaze, and once he had it, he leaned in towards Yahaba and kissed his cheek without losing eye-contact. Yahaba froze underneath the touch, and Kindaichi was stunned into silence, knowing exactly what Shirabu was doing. Shirabu sat straight again, giving him a smile that walked the line between innocent and devilish. 

His smile grew wider when he saw the growing blush on Yahaba’s cheeks.

Kindaichi frowned at being cornered like that. “You know,” he said in a low voice, “that I was kidding while I told you to keep it in your pants, right?”

“I know,” Shirabu responded, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “I’m just messing with you.”

Kindaichi sighed, letting his shoulders sag and raising his eyes towards the ceiling. “You’re just as bad as Yahaba.”

Yahaba blinked, and gave Kindaichi a look of genuine betrayal. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Oh, I can name a few things.”

“Can you really?” Yahaba challenged. “Tell me.”

While those two squabbled, Watari and Kunimi watching in amusement, Shirabu gazed out the window, smiling when Kindaichi named one instance after another, indicating that Yahaba could be as much of a brat as Shirabu was sometimes; laughing when Yahaba tried to defend himself despite all the evidence; giving Kindaichi a high five when Shirabu himself supplied some examples that defended Kindaichi’s case.

From then on chatting was fun and effortless, and before Shirabu knew it, they’d arrived at their destination. One walk later Shirabu set foot on the burning sand, and after a few steps he already felt some sand kernels entering his sneakers. Sighing, he kneeled to ditch his shoes entirely. Yahaba stood beside him, pausing, and told the rest of them to go on and pick a nice spot.

“Do Kunimi and Kindaichi have a thing for each other?” Shirabu asked Yahaba out of the blue, when the two people in question were out of earshot. 

“What? No,” Yahaba responded, sounding surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“They really don’t?” Shirabu shook the sand out of his sneaker. “It’s painfully obvious Kindaichi has a thing for Kunimi, though.”

Shirabu heard Yahaba gulp beside him as he pulled off his socks. “He does?”

“Of course he does,” Shirabu said, tucking his socks into his shoes and standing up, letting his shoes dangle off his fingers. “Have you been sleeping during the train ride? The guy was completely flustered.”

“Huh,” was Yahaba’s only reply. They spotted their friends a bit farther away and started walking towards them. “So you notice my friends crushing on each other after one train ride but don’t notice me pining after you for multiple weeks?”

“You’ve been pining after me for _how long_?” 

Yahaba coughed and cleared his throat, chuckling awkwardly. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “So.. that move you pulled on the train with that kiss. That was very.. _cheeky_.”

Shirabu glared incredulously at Yahaba before rolling his eyes to the sky and groaning loudly. “Oh my g-- I’m going to strangle you.”

Yahaba was still cackling when they reached their friends, and Shirabu hurried over to Kunimi to help him set up the parasol. After that he spread out his beach towel on the sand underneath the shade, in between Kunimi and Watari, the latter of which seeming to be soaking in the sun like a flower that hadn’t seen light in days. He noticed Yahaba curl his lips in annoyance just slightly at the lack of space to sit down on on either side of Shirabu, and plopped down next to Kindaichi instead, who was pulling a bottle of sunscreen out of his backpack.

“Hey,” Watari said, sitting up. “Race each other to the sea? Last one in the water has to treat the rest to ice cream!”

“Hold on, sunscreen first,” Shirabu muttered, squeezing some of the cream on his hands and wrinkling his nose at the chemically tropical scent. Yahaba padded over to him and offered to rub some on his back, and Shirabu agreed. He saw Kindaichi looking over at them, and Shirabu caught his gaze and subtly jerked his head towards Kunimi. Kindaichi got the hint and scooted over to Kunimi, holding up the bottle of sunscreen. Kunimi shrugged, and Kindaichi sat down behind him.

Shirabu smiled-- then yelped when the cold sunscreen touched his back. Yahaba whispered “sorry” and started rubbing Shirabu’s back. For a moment, Shirabu closed his eyes and revelled in the feeling of Yahaba’s hands on his skin. Yahaba’s fingers lingered for a short while before they disappeared, and part of Shirabu wished the moment had lasted longer. Another part, however, wished he wasn’t so weak for anything Yahaba did.

When everyone was all rubbed in, Watari dragged a starting line in the sand with his foot, making sure no one would have an advantage. 

“Do I really have to do this?” Kunimi asked, sounding as if he’d run 10 laps around a volleyball field already. “I never wanted to be a part of this whole thing in the first place.”

“Come on, Kunimi-kun, I know you want free ice cream,” Watari grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “On your marks, get set..”

Shirabu glanced at Yahaba, and grinned. Yahaba grinned right back.

“Go!”

Shirabu nearly lost his footing during the first few steps, but recovered quickly. As he ran, the thought that this must be one of the stupidest things he’d ever done flashed through his mind, and yet he couldn’t care less. The wind in his face, the warm sand underneath his bare feet, the air rushing in and out of his lungs.. Those things made him feel alive. More alive than he’d felt in a while.

He laughed when Yahaba nearly face-planted a meter or so behind him, grinned when Kunimi groaned “I’m dying” underneath his breath, just loud enough for him to hear, cursed when Watari reached the water just before he could, cheering loudly. Shirabu looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see Kunimi coming in third, splashing to a halt beside him and bending over, trying to catch his breath. 

“Nooo!” Yahaba screamed as he failed to catch up to Kindaichi, who hit the water and ran past Shirabu and Kunimi, yelling as he tried to slow down. He stumbled and crashed into the waves, causing the other boys to burst into laughter. 

“Looks like you owe us ice cream, Shigeru,” Shirabu snickered when Yahaba reached him. 

“You sneaky fuck,” Yahaba cursed, breathing heavily and pointing to Watari. “You only invented this bet because you knew you’d win.”

“Someone is a sore loser,” Kunimi commented, and Shirabu snorted.

“Guys, come on in, the water is great!” Kindaichi called from farther away. The missile-like shape of his hair had been lost to the water, and the wet strands stuck to his forehead.

“Just relax, Yahaba,” Shirabu said, patting Yahaba’s shoulder in mock consolation. “Today is supposed to be _fun_ , remember?”

“I hate all of you,” Yahaba grumbled, pouting. 

“All right, go swim alone, then.” Shirabu waded through the waves until the water reached his thighs, then dove right in. He stayed submerged for as long as he could, enjoying the way the world seemed nearly silent underneath the surface, and when he came back up again, lungs begging for air, he turned onto his back, gazing into the endless blue of the cloudless sky as he drifted.

“Hey,” he heard someone say, and Shirabu moved back upright to see Yahaba swimming towards him. Back where the water was a bit lower, he saw Kindaichi and Kunimi swinging Watari back and forth -- Kunimi holding his hands, Kindaichi holding his feet. Then they released Watari at his highest point, and Watari flew through the air with a shrieking laugh until he disappeared under the surface with a splash. 

“Why are they torturing Watari?” Shirabu asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Yahaba stood beside him, the water reaching his chest. “Oh, Watari wanted them to do that.”

“Huh.” Shirabu glanced at Yahaba and grinned lopsidedly. “Look at you, all in your natural habitat.” He raised a hand to gesture to the sea around him.

Yahaba gave him a look of disappointed exasperation. “ _Har har_ ,” he said sarcastically. “Look who’s talking, salt shaker.”

“Call me salt shaker again and I’ll drown you, Yahaba.”

“Does that mean I’ll get killed by two salty things?”

Shirabu responded by splashing sea water into Yahaba’s face, and Yahaba yelped and spluttered. “Blegh, so salty. But not as salty as y--”

“ _Don’t_.”

Yahaba laughed, punching Shirabu playfully on his shoulder. Despite himself, Shirabu smiled. 

“Hey Yahaba.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad I decided to come along.”

Yahaba fished through the water until he found Shirabu’s hands, and lifted them above the surface before intertwining his fingers with Shirabu’s with a soft smile on his lips. 

“It’s not even noon yet though, maybe you’ll change your mind. Who knows what will happen,” Yahaba said, gazing at his friends, who were chasing each other through the water further down. 

“You have a knack for ruining things, haven’t you, Shigeru?”

Yahaba snorted, and shook his head slightly. “But what I meant to say is that I’m glad you came with us.”

Shirabu pulled one of his hands out of Yahaba’s hold and ran his fingers through Yahaba’s still mostly dry hair, the tips of the strands tinged gold in the bright rays of the sun. Yahaba responded by settling his free hand on the small of Shirabu’s back, pulling him closer. Shirabu’s chest started to warm in anticipation and he leaned in, tilting his head slightly. Just as he felt Yahaba’s lips touch his, a voice cut through the sound of the waves rolling and crashing around them.

“Hey, love birds,” Kindaichi called. “You in for a game of beach volleyball?” He pointed to a volleyball net close to the place where they left their bags.

“Jesus Christ,” Shirabu cursed against Yahaba’s lips, and Yahaba chuckled, pulling away. 

“We’ll finish this later,” he promised, lifting a hand to stroke Shirabu’s cheek. Shirabu nearly shivered at the touch.

Yahaba’s smile turned sour. “After I beat Kindaichi’s sorry ass in beach volleyball.”

Shirabu grinned. “That’s what I like to hear.”

~~~

In the first round of their beach volleyball tournament, Shirabu teamed up with Yahaba and went to battle Kindaichi and Kunimi on the court, while Watari played referee. Despite their team consisting of two setters, their attacks and receives were solid, and with their excellent serves they gained the advantage pretty easily, winning the set with a score of 25 - 17. Shirabu high-fived Yahaba so hard his fingers stung, and Yahaba’s whoops of victory could be heard all over the beach. 

For the second round, Watari insisted on having Shirabu on his team, and so they went up against Yahaba and Kindaichi. With Watari on his side, their receives were immaculate, but they lacked in attack power because of it. Shirabu offered to receive whatever he thought he could handle, so he could attack where Watari couldn’t. It was a heated match, points being traded back and forth continuously. At last, the set was taken by Kindaichi and Yahaba when Shirabu hit out of bounds, making the score 27 - 25. Kindaichi almost seemed impressed by the string of curses Shirabu let out at his stupid mistake.

Shirabu paired up with Kunimi for the third and final round, with Yahaba and Watari on the other side of the net. He managed to sync up with Kunimi quickly, and their play was all calculated moves, making use of all the holes and mistakes in the other team’s offense and defense. Despite Yahaba’s excellent setting, serving, and even hitting, and Watari’s skilled receives, they were nothing against his and Kunimi’s cunning, and Shirabu’s team took the set quickly with a score of 25 - 13. Shirabu and Kunimi shared a high five, and rubbed in their victory with matching grins, to Yahaba’s annoyance.

After lunch everyone pretty much did their own thing. Watari walked around the beach collecting sea shells, Kunimi and Kindaichi played a game of cards, Yahaba read a book, and Shirabu went back and forth between taking a swim and dozing in the shade of the parasol with music in his ears.

Around 4 pm, when Shirabu got up from his towel and made his way towards the sea again, Yahaba joined him wordlessly. Shirabu reached for his hand, and Yahaba took it, squeezing it lightly. They wove through the sea of towels, people and parasols until they reached the shore, and Shirabu felt himself relax as soon as his toes touched the water.

“It’s strange,” Yahaba said over the crashing of the waves, “how you said you couldn’t imagine a worse place to spend a day like this than the beach, and yet you’ve been swimming more than any of us.”

“Oh, I still hate beaches,” Shirabu made clear. “I hate the feeling of sand getting everywhere, and the gross stickiness of sunscreen on my skin. I hate the feeling of shriveling underneath the sun’s death rays, and I hate how crowded it always is.”

The water reached his hips, and Shirabu let go of Yahaba’s hand. “But this..”

He dove forward, submerging himself, and the cool body of water all around him woke him up and calmed him down at the same time. He stayed under until he was out of air, then came back to the surface, pushing his hair out of his eyes and facing Yahaba, still standing a few meters back.

“This makes it all worth it,” Shirabu finished.

Yahaba smiled at him fondly, and Shirabu’s heart sped up slightly. Was Yahaba even aware of the fact he got dimples in his cheeks when he smiled like that? It got to Shirabu every time, and yet again he felt the need to punch himself for being this weak for Yahaba.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

Yahaba shrugged. “You just keep amazing me. Also, your hair looks ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Shirabu retorted quickly, trying to cover up the effect of Yahaba’s words. _You just keep amazing me_. Who just _said_ stuff like that?

Yahaba only chuckled. Shirabu glared at him before he dove into the water, swimming towards Yahaba and popping up right in front of him. He noticed Yahaba blushing slightly at how close Shirabu was. _Good_.

“Just fucking kiss me, you flustered nerd. We have something to finish,” Shirabu said, the words sounding more like an order than a request. If Yahaba was wearing a t-shirt, he would’ve grabbed it and yanked Yahaba towards him until their lips collided.

Yahaba’s grin matched the boldness of Shirabu’s words. “Right.”

Yahaba’s hands found their place on Shirabu’s back, and Shirabu settled his fingers on Yahaba’s bare chest before he tilted his head upwards and met Yahaba’s lips with his own. When it was clear to Shirabu they weren’t going to be interrupted this time, he deepened the kiss, his fingers sliding up to Yahaba’s shoulders and holding them tightly, barely resisting the urge to pull him even closer. He could recognize the faint taste of the lemonade Yahaba had been sipping before they went out to swim, and it was at odds with the salty taste of the sea that had been covering his own lips.

The kiss made Shirabu feel more breathless than when he was drifting underneath the surface of the water, and soon he pulled away to catch his breath. Yahaba caught Shirabu’s face in his hands and rested his forehead against Shirabu’s, smiling as if he’d just won the lottery. Shirabu took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down this racing heart.

“You make me happy,” Yahaba said softly, his voice barely audible over the crashing of the waves. “So incredibly happy.”

Shirabu’s heart was like a flower blooming underneath the rays of the sun, and the feeling was so powerful he nearly couldn’t take it. He stepped back, and with one fluid movement of his leg he swept Yahaba of his feet, making Yahaba fall backwards into the water with a surprised yelp. When Yahaba resurfaced, spitting sea water out of his mouth, his normally fluffy hair drooping underneath the water and falling in his eyes, he looked at Shirabu with confusion and betrayal. Shirabu bit his lip to keep himself from smiling.

“What was that for?” Yahaba asked, getting back onto his feet and pushing his hair out of his face.

“Just give me a warning next time you say something sappy like that,” Shirabu said in response, wringing his hands and averting his gaze. Fuck, Yahaba’s sincerity was going to kill him one day. He focused on the glimmer of the sun on the water, waiting for the heavy burning in his chest to subside. 

Yahaba chuckled. “All right.” He held out his hand for Shirabu to take. “Come on, I still need to buy _some people_ ice cream.”

Shirabu snorted and grabbed Yahaba’s hand, only a tiny bit remorseful that he didn’t have the chance to swim a bit longer as they made their way back to the shore. “You’re such a sore loser.”

“You’re not the one who has to pay for the sugar cravings of four hungry boys.”

Shirabu chuckled softly. He opened his mouth to offer a witty comment, but Yahaba beat him to it.

“Also,” Yahaba continued, “don’t get me started on how you act when I beat you at Mario Kart.”

Shirabu curled his lips in disgust. “That cursed game is going to haunt me forever, isn’t it?”

Yahaba cackled, and Shirabu had a hard time keeping himself from kicking sea water in Yahaba’s face. Despite that, his chest swelled at the sound of Yahaba’s laughter. It was a song he could listen to all day.

“Shigeru?”

“Hmm?” Yahaba raised his eyebrows at the use of his first name. Shirabu squeezed Yahaba’s hand, and smiled down at the waves lapping at his feet. 

“You make me feel alive.”

~~~

After Yahaba treated the others to ice cream -- and spend a near-fortune tending to the boys’ high demands -- they packed up and went to catch the train ride back. This time around, Kunimi, Kindaichi and Watari occupied the place with four seats, while Yahaba and Shirabu chose to share a seat across the aisle.

Shirabu leaned his head against the window, his eyes nearly falling closed as they followed the moving scenery, the fingers of his left hand loosely intertwined with Yahaba’s.

Yahaba appeared to notice he was nearly dozing off, as he pulled his fingers out of Shirabu’s grip and wrapped his right arm around Shirabu instead, tugging him towards him so that Shirabu’s head came to rest on his shoulder. Shirabu closed his eyes, and he was sure he’d never felt this comfortable and save around anyone before.

_I want this moment to last forever._

“Shigeru,” Shirabu said softly, his exhaustion dripping from his voice. When Yahaba hummed in acknowledgement, not lifting his eyes from the book he was reading, Shirabu continued. 

“Do you want me to be your boyfriend?”

Yahaba’s book slipped through his fingers and fell to the ground. He made no move to pick it up.

“What did you say?”

“I mean,” Shirabu continued, stifling a yawn, “I don’t care much for labels, but if it makes you happy, I’d be your boyfriend without a second thought. Just saying.”

“Oh,” was all Yahaba said. Shirabu bent over and fished the book Yahaba had dropped from the floor. Yahaba accepted the thing with a mumbled “thanks”, and Shirabu settled his head on Yahaba’s shoulder again, sighing deeply. 

They shared a minute of silence, and Shirabu was close to falling asleep when Yahaba spoke again. “In that case… Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Shirabu smiled a tired smile. “If that means I can brag about you to everyone I know, sure.”

“There’s not much to brag about, though,” Yahaba countered, but there was laughter in his voice. 

“Stop the lies, Shitgeru,” Shirabu said, the words not having as much force as they normally would have. He would’ve jabbed Yahaba in the ribs to emphasize his point if he still had the energy to do so.

“Just go sleep,” Yahaba told him. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Shirabu was more than eager to take him up on that offer. He snuggled closer to Yahaba, and Yahaba squeezed him to his side with his arm in response. He pressed a kiss to Shirabu’s head before he continued reading his book, and Yahaba was still lazily trailing his fingers over Shirabu’s bare arm when Shirabu fell asleep without a single worry on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. yeah. Don't have much to say for this one. I hope you guys enjoyed it ^^   
> Also please bear with me, aside from a few set plot points I'm literally making this entire thing up as I go so it might take a while before I find ideas I deem worthy enough to put into the story ;p
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa if you feel like it!!
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated <3
> 
> I hope you all have a nice day!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, what nerve do I have, to come back from the dead after nearly 4 weeks of inactivity to drop off such a mediocre chapter. But, since I have been unbelievably busy with life, and will continue to be unbelievably busy, I don't have anything better to offer for now. Oh well, I'm entering the final arc soon, so maybe I will have something interesting for you guys next time.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so much once again for the reading, the kudos, and the lovely comments <3 I can say from the bottom of my heart that wouldn't nearly have come this far without your tremendous support and encouragement, and I'm very, very grateful for that ^^
> 
> Now, let me share what I've been spending my spare energy and time on these past few weeks :) Enjoy!

The wind was crisp, and it gently ruffled Yahaba’s hair as he walked up to the front door of the Shirabu household and rung the doorbell. He adjusted the straps of his backpack on his shoulders as he waited for someone to respond. 

It’d been weeks since the day they went to the beach together, and while Yahaba hung out with Shirabu after school and training and during the weekends as much as he could, he missed doing something fun with him without anything else -- or _anyone_ else -- getting involved. And now that September was thriving, it would only be a matter of time before the weather wouldn’t be suitable for Yahaba’s plans.

Yahaba came up with the idea the evening before, and since he forgot to inform Shirabu about it because he’d been planning things out until he nearly fell over from fatigue, it was time to surprise him.

Yahaba prodded the doorbell again, starting to get impatient despite the fact that it was a Sunday morning, and that he was the one intruding. Yahaba checked his phone; no need to get nervous, they still had time before the train they were supposed to catch took off. Provided they hurry up a little.

Yahaba pocketed his phone quickly when he heard the sound of keys jamming into the lock, and soon the door swung open to reveal Shirabu squinting at him, wearing faded grey sweatpants and an old sports t-shirt, his hair adorably messy.

Shirabu’s eyes widened once he realized who was standing in front of him. “Shigeru? What are you doing here?”

Yahaba found himself clearing his throat before he spoke. “I’m taking you out on a date,” he announced, straightening his back. 

Shirabu only looked at him with an empty expression before he slammed the door shut in Yahaba’s face.

“Hey!” Yahaba yelled, pounding his fist on the door. “Don’t shut the door on me!”

The door opened again, and Shirabu frowned at Yahaba. “Be quiet, my mom’s still sleeping upstairs.”

“Sorry.”

“Why now? Why this early?”

Yahaba smiled at the ground. “I wanted to do something fun with you.”

Shirabu cocked his head to the side. “We hang out nearly every day. I don’t see why something like this is necessary.”

“Sitting in that damn playground doing homework isn’t _fun_ , Kenjirou,” Yahaba protested, wrinkling his nose. “Please humor me and come along.”

Shirabu’s lips twisted as he considered it. Then he sighed, and his shoulders slumped with the action. “Fine, but you’re buying me coffee.”

Yahaba grinned. “Deal.”

Shirabu shook his head slightly, a smile tugging on his lips. “Give me a moment to change,” he said, and with that he left, hopping upstairs and leaving the front door ajar. After standing outside silently for a few seconds, Yahaba slipped inside and closed the door behind him, untying the laces of his shoes.

Normally he wouldn’t just sneak in this, but this was only Yahaba’s second time visiting Shirabu at home since he met him. And while Yahaba didn’t like admitting it, he was actually extremely curious about what Shirabu’s room looked like.

Yahaba took the stairs as quietly as he could, and stood in the corridor, trying to guess which room was Shirabu’s. Then he heard someone stumble, and a muffled curse came from behind the door he was currently facing. Yahaba chuckled, and knocked gently on the door, opening it when he was met with silence -- because as far as Shirabu was concerned, any kind of sound would be some sort of protest.

He was met with a room as white and stark as the living room, floor-to-ceiling windows taking up the entire left side of the room, the dark blue curtains covering them hastily pushed aside to allow in the morning light. A bed was pushed against the wall across from the door, the sheets rumpled and sliding to the hardwood floor. Shirabu was rummaging through a large wardrobe set against the right wall, already having switched his sweatpants for a pair of faded ripped jeans, and Yahaba spotted a desk on his left, right next to the doorway, a few text books still lying open. 

It was a room fit for a rich kid, and Yahaba was starting to believe more and more that Shirabu and his parents had a _lot_ of money to spare.

“Care to tell me where you’re taking me?” Shirabu asked, his voice dragging Yahaba back to reality. He fished a simple white t-shirt from the wardrobe and pulled it over his head. 

“It’s a surprise,” was Yahaba’s only response. He smirked at Shirabu, who rolled his eyes.

“Of course it is,” Shirabu sighed, inspecting his hair in the long mirror attached to one of the wardrobe’s doors. Sunlight peeked through the tall windows, turning Shirabu’s hair into a golden halo as he swiftly smoothed down any stray strands. 

“Okay, I’m done. Do I look presentable?” Shirabu asked, turning around to face Yahaba and casually sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Presentable? More like ravishing,” Yahaba responded, grinning and shooting finger guns at Shirabu. 

“You’re disgusting. Let’s go.”

Shirabu pushed past Yahaba as he laughed, and when Yahaba let his gaze wander over Shirabu’s room once more before he left, he spotted something interesting. There, in the corner, between the head end of the bed and the curtains, sat a violin in a black case, the lid of it left open as if Shirabu didn’t like the idea of the instrument being hidden away. 

Yahaba walked back into the room to inspect the violin more closely. A small layer of dust covered the smooth curves of the wood, but otherwise it seemed in near perfect state. 

“Hey, aren’t you coming?” Shirabu’s voice called. “You’d better not be rummaging through my stuff.”

Yahaba looked up to see Shirabu peeking in his room, and Shirabu’s shoulders fell visibly when he noticed what Yahaba was looking at.

“I didn’t know you played,” Yahaba said airily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Shirabu shrugged. “It’s not important.”

“Any kind of fact concerning you is pretty important to me.”

“There’s not much to the story,” Shirabu said, spitting out the words as if he hated the topic. He settled his gaze on the ground and rubbed his forearm. “My parents arranged violin lessons for me when I was younger and I played along until I was tired of it. From then on I only touch the thing when I feel like it. Which is barely ever.”

Yahaba hummed, and knelt down to trace his fingers over the edges of the violin. “I’d love to hear you play one day.”

There were a few seconds until Shirabu cleared his throat. “Weren’t you going to take me out on a date?”

Yahaba’s heart skipped a beat. “Fuck.” He stood and whipped his phone out of his pocket to check the time. _Oh no. Not good._

“Come on,” Yahaba said, crossing the room and grabbing Shirabu’s wrist as he entered the corridor to drag him along. “We have twenty minutes to catch the train.”

“Catch the _what now_?” Shirabu echoed incredulously. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Doesn’t matter. Go grab your stuff.” Yahaba pulled Shirabu down the stairs, the both of them nearly stumbling, and Yahaba quickly laced up his sneakers as Shirabu ran to the kitchen, then returned with a granola bar between his teeth. 

“You know it’s a twenty-minute walk to the station from here, right?” Shirabu deadpanned in between bites, sliding his arms into a dark denim jacket before bending down to put on his shoes. 

“Not if we run,” Yahaba responded dryly. “Hurry up, slowpoke.”

“We would’ve left on time if you had actually _told_ me we’d be taking a train to god knows where,” Shirabu complained, straightening up. He grabbed a bundle of keys from a small table near the entrance and swung open the front door. Once both boys were outside, he locked it as quickly as he could. The moment Shirabu had pocketed his keys, Yahaba grabbed his hand, and with their fingers interlaced they ran towards the station. 

They arrived just as the train rolled to a stop at the platform, and when they dropped down on a set of empty seats, Shirabu gave Yahaba a dirty glare.

“Now you owe me both coffee and breakfast,” he panted. 

~~~

After riding two trains and a bus, Yahaba and Shirabu arrived on their destination. The moment Shirabu noticed where Yahaba was taking him, he stopped in his tracks, and his face contorted into a mask of disgust. 

“A _theme park_? Really?”

Yahaba just tugged at Shirabu’s hand. “Come on, we only have a few hours. No time to waste.”

“The only way we’re going to waste time is by exploring a theme park,” Shirabu spat. “Forget it, I’m not going in there.”

Yahaba sighed. “I knew you were going to be difficult about this.”

“If you knew, then _why did you decide to take me here_?”

“Because I thought it would be fucking _fun_ , Kenjirou,” Yahaba exclaimed. “Jesus Christ. What’s the big deal?”

“I’m not a theme park kind of guy,” Shirabu defended himself. “You know I dislike big crowds and lots of noise.”

Yahaba frowned at him, and let go of Shirabu’s hand to cross his arms across his chest. “I have a feeling there’s more behind this than that.”

Shirabu glared at Yahaba before he averted his gaze and cursed under his breath. “ _Fine_. I’ve never been to a theme park before. Are you happy now?”

Yahaba’s frown softened, and he raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?” he asked.

Shirabu shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s embarrassing, I guess.” He buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I still think theme parks suck, though.”

“Then humor me,” Yahaba said, holding out his hand for Shirabu to take, “and let me convince you they aren’t as bad as you suspect they are.” 

Shirabu frowned, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Yahaba sighed, and planted his free hand on his hip. “I’ve already paid for the tickets.”

Shirabu silently eyed Yahaba’s outstretched hand until he took it begrudgingly. “Fine. Only because you bought the tickets already. Which I’m going to pay you back for, by the way.”

“No way in hell, this is my treat.”

“I hate you.”

Yahaba smiled, and guided Shirabu to the entrance. As soon as they were inside, Yahaba found a place to buy Shirabu his coffee, and with Shirabu satisfied they sat down on one of the many benches scattered across the park, Yahaba intently scanning a small map of the grounds.

“Before you’re going to ask,” Shirabu commented, swirling the coffee in his styrofoam cup, “I don’t give a shit about where we’re going or what we’re doing first, so just do what the hell you want and drag me along.”

Yahaba gave him a disappointed look. Shirabu took a sip of his coffee.

“Or just leave me here, that’s fine by me as well,” Shirabu continued nonchalantly.

“Are you going to let me have this, or are you planning to be a little shit about this all day long?”

Shirabu smiled against his cup. “You know me, I enjoy being a little shit.”

Yahaba snorted, the smile that poisoned his frown puckering his lips. Boyfriend or no, as far as Shirabu was concerned, the desire to strangle him still hit him from time to time.

“Are you done drinking that?” Yahaba asked, keeping his voice as unamused as possible.

Shirabu emptied the remains of the coffee in his mouth, then stood up and unceremoniously dumped the cup in the trash can. “Blow me away, Boyfriend-kun.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Yahaba scoffed, taking Shirabu’s hand without a second thought and pulling him along. 

“I told Tendou-san to stop calling you that, but he won’t listen to me.” Upon Yahaba’s annoyed glare, Shirabu threw his free hand up in defense. “Don’t blame me! It just stuck with me.”

Yahaba only knew bits and pieces of the story, as Shirabu often refused to elaborate, but apparently his rather unnerving teammate had gotten his hands on Shirabu’s phone when Shirabu wasn’t paying attention to it, and had thereby discovered Shirabu was dating someone. Nearly every day Shirabu complained about Tendou bothering him about ‘Boyfriend-kun’ and his antics, and when Yahaba had teased him about it, Shirabu had shot back by calling him by the same annoying nickname.

“I’m not the one who leaves his phone out for the world to break into,” Yahaba shot back, grinning. 

“I’m telling you, Tendou-san has a way with guessing passwords. It’s not my fault he got in and read all your sappy messages.” Shirabu chuckled once. “You should watch your friends, though. Watari is kind of a blabbermouth, and I feel like Kindaichi would sell you out for a bowl of ramen.” 

“I have my friends under control, thank you very much,” Yahaba enunciated, and Shirabu laughed.

“I wonder what Oikawa-san would say..” Shirabu mused, and his eyes held a mischievous glint.

“Please don’t remind me,” Yahaba whined, which only made Shirabu laugh harder. Shirabu seemed to know enough about the rivalry between their respective captains and the personality of Oikawa Tooru to know that the existence of their relationship might stir up an unwanted reaction. Which was exactly why Yahaba did his best to cover up the fact he was dating Shiratorizawa’s talented setter.

“Hey, let’s go in this!” Yahaba exclaimed, pointing at a roller coaster that looked suspiciously like an absentminded scribble you could find in the corner of a notebook page. Shirabu eyed the construction with unamused suspicion, and Yahaba could’ve sworn he paled slightly.

“No thanks,” Shirabu said quickly. “You go alone.”

“Awh, but it’s more fun when you’re with me.”

“You’re such an unbearable sap.” A forced chuckle. “But still, no thanks.”

“You’re not scared, are you?” Yahaba asked, half out of concern and half to tease him. As much as it was more fun with Shirabu around, it wasn’t his place to force him to do things he didn’t want to do.

Shirabu spluttered. “What? No, of course not!”

Yahaba frowned. Shirabu’s voice was too high-pitched to sound casual. But to suggest to do something else instead just based on that would only piss Shirabu off.

“Well, if you say so. Will you go with me, then?”

“Okay, fine, whatever,” Shirabu snapped, and turned the tables by dragging Yahaba to the growing queue. “I should try things now that we’re here anyway.”

Despite his attitude, however, Shirabu kept fidgeting with anything and everything he could find when they were waiting in line, and not once did he meet Yahaba’s gaze. When Yahaba asked if Shirabu was fine, he just gave a noncommittal hum and went back to what he was doing. While it seemed like the best thing to do, Yahaba didn’t even want to think about considering to leave the queue. 

After half an hour of waiting, it was finally their turn. As Yahaba strapped himself in, he noticed Shirabu was taking long, deep breaths and clutching the bars with so much force his knuckles were turning white. 

“You’re not okay, are you?” Yahaba tried to deadpan, but it came out as concerned instead. Which he was. Terribly so.

“I’m going to die,” Shirabu whispered, tightening his grip on the bars even more.

Yahaba chuckled despite himself. “You’re not going to die.”

“I am _positively_ going to die.”

“Kenjirou. If the possibility of dying existed, they wouldn’t let you ride this thing.”

Shirabu shook his head. “I’m still going to die.”

Yahaba had a hard time keeping himself from laughing. Shirabu, being a person who relied on -- and basically was the embodiment of -- reason and logic, was being everything but reasonable. It was a peculiar sight. Not one Yahaba was able to enjoy, though.

“It’s okay,” Yahaba said, trying to sound reassuring. “You can still--”

“I’m _not_ backing out, Shigeru.”

Yahaba sighed. _So stubborn_. “Then take my hand. That would decrease the chances of you dying, wouldn’t it?”

Shirabu traded the bar he was holding with his left hand for Yahaba’s right, and his fingers were cold and clammy. Just this once, Yahaba missed the sturdy security of the sports tape Shirabu always wore. 

The cart lurched forward, starting its ascent in the usual slow, terrifying way of most roller coasters, and Shirabu cursed underneath his breath. Higher and higher they climbed, and Yahaba only had a few seconds to take in the sight of the park from above before they plunged into the depths and flew into a looping. 

All that Yahaba could hear during the ride was Shirabu’s petrified shrieks, and all he felt was the pain in his right hand from where Shirabu held onto him for his dear life. 

When the cart came to a stop, Shirabu’s eyes were wider than Yahaba had ever seen them, and as soon as the cart released them, Shirabu hurried to climb out of it, his legs seeming unsteady. He headed for the exit immediately, and Yahaba could only follow him, trying to shake off the adrenaline rush from the ride. 

Shirabu sank down on the first bench he found and leaned his elbows on his knees, hanging his head between his shoulders. Yahaba silently sat down beside him and rubbed Shirabu’s back, hoping it would soothe him somehow. It took a minute before Shirabu spoke again.

“If I hadn’t lost my stomach somewhere back there, I would be throwing up right now,” he stated weakly, his voice hoarse. 

Yahaba stood up and knelt down in front of Shirabu. “You know,” he said, smoothing down Shirabu’s windblown hair, “you didn’t have to prove to me you weren’t scared. It’s fine if you are. We could’ve done something else.”

Shirabu met Yahaba’s gaze for a few seconds before he planted his on his dangling hands. “I just… hate showing weakness like that.” The words were strangled, as if it had been an incredibly hard thing for him to admit. 

“I know,” Yahaba whispered. Yahaba actually hadn’t known, but when Shirabu actually put it in words, it made sense to him. The way he always tried to fix things by himself. The way he didn’t let anyone take care of him. It seemed to be his way of being strong.

Yahaba took Shirabu’s face in both of his hands and gently kissed his forehead. “But doing that doesn’t make you weak.”

Yahaba grabbed Shirabu’s hands and squeezed them. After a second or two, Shirabu squeezed back. “If anything,” Yahaba continued, “you showed strength by facing your fear.”

“I hate it when you try to sound like a wise old man,” Shirabu muttered, and Yahaba burst out laughing. Shirabu smiled along, albeit a bit weakly. 

“I’m sorry about your hand, by the way,” Shirabu added. “I probably almost broke your fingers.”

“They’ll survive,” Yahaba assured him, flexing the hand in question. He wasn’t quite getting rid of the phantom grip Shirabu left behind, though. “Are you ready to go?”

Shirabu nodded. “I think I’m good.”

Yahaba got to his feet, and pulled Shirabu up by his hand. As they made their way through the park, looking for their next source of entertainment, Yahaba bumped Shirabu’s shoulder with his. “Next time, though, maybe you could tone down the screaming a little. I think I temporarily lost my hearing.”

Shirabu bumped back with a force that nearly made Yahaba topple over. “Don’t be an asshole.”

Before Yahaba could reply, however, Shirabu stopped in his tracks and pointed at something. “That. That’s more like it. Let’s go in there.”

Yahaba followed Shirabu’s pointing finger and cringed internally. A haunted house. Of course. Of fucking course. Yahaba didn’t even know why he was surprised.

“Uh,” was the only thing Yahaba could bring out. He wasn’t a fan of dark, scary sounding places, but if Shirabu wanted to go… Did boyfriends have to make such sacrifices? What was the proper etiquette in situations like these? Is that why Shirabu joined him in the roller coaster despite his fear and discomfort?

“Or not,” Shirabu added dryly. He started wandering away, but Yahaba squeezed Shirabu’s hand, keeping him in place.

“I guess,” Yahaba sighed, “it’s worth a try.”

~~~

It turned out, this time it was Yahaba’s turn to scream. 

Not because of the near-darkness, or the unsettling noises, or the smoke trailing over the floor, no. In fact, he’d been managing pretty well, until he realized, near the end of the haunted tour, that Shirabu was no longer walking beside him. 

Until Shirabu decided that it was a good idea to sneak up behind him when Yahaba wasn’t looking, and to forcefully set his hands on Yahaba’s shoulders as he loudly yelled ‘boo!’ in Yahaba’s ear.

Until Yahaba jumped away with a loud shriek, lost his footing while trying to bolt from the source of danger, and planted his face in the dirty, creaky wood of the floor. 

Shirabu burst out laughing at the sight of Yahaba lying on the floor, defeated, his heart still racing in his chest, and Shirabu was still laughing when they exited the building.

“That’s it, I’m dumping you,” Yahaba pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And then what, cut short our date?” Shirabu chuckled, wiping away an escaped tear. “But I’m having so much _fun_ , Shigeru.”

Yahaba rolled his eyes, but couldn’t resist the smile that crept up his lips. Despite the small heart attack he’d received, it was hard to be mad about losing a year of your life-span in a foolish action like that if it made Shirabu happy.

“In all seriousness, though,” Shirabu continued, snaking his arms around Yahaba’s waist, “I wouldn’t have scared you if I thought you couldn’t deal with it. But if I upset you, just tell me.”

“You didn’t upset me,” Yahaba reassured him quickly, and proceeded to laugh sheepishly. “I’m just being a baby about it.”

“Aren’t you always, though?” Shirabu asked mockingly, and Yahaba laughed. “Now, let’s go, _Yahababy_ ,” Shirabu continued, intertwining his fingers with Yahaba’s. The simple gesture still made Yahaba’s heart speed up. “There’s a lot more to see.”

“Why did I ever start dating you?” Yahaba sighed exasperatedly, as they made their way to a long row of booths. 

“Because you’re as much of a brat as I am,” Shirabu deadpanned, and Yahaba snorted. “Also, you like me.”

“Embarrassingly much,” Yahaba admitted, and he pretended not to notice the blush creeping up Shirabu’s cheeks. He started swinging their joined hands between them, and Shirabu let him. Yahaba smiled to himself. _This seems to have been a good idea after all._

During the rest of the day, they decided to avoid any wild-looking rides and attractions, and browsed the many booths and buildings instead. They tested their skills and raised their competitiveness in the many arcade games, and much to Shirabu’s annoyance, Yahaba won most often. Yahaba paid him back by gifting him the bear plushie he won at one of the games, which left Shirabu nothing less than flustered.

Shirabu bought himself enough cotton candy to feed an army, only to nearly chuck it away after a few bites because he didn’t like the way his hands got sticky. Yahaba persuaded him to share it with him instead, despite nearly having to throw up from the amount of ice cream he’d consumed, and it resulted in a lot of sticky touches and unbearably sweet kisses. 

Before they knew it, their time in the theme park was up, and for the entirety of the bus- and train rides, Shirabu rested his head on Yahaba’s shoulder -- as he started to do more and more often when they were together, which pleased Yahaba a lot, since it probably meant he trusted Yahaba a great amount --, talking about a wide range of subjects in a low voice, or sharing his music with Yahaba as he dozed. 

Once they were back in their hometown, Yahaba walked Shirabu home in comfortable silence. Yahaba watched Shirabu as he walked, taking in the way his hair shone in the soft light of the setting sun, the way he kept looking up at the range of colours the sky provided, the way he had loosely hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. At moments like that, Yahaba had a hard time believing he was dating something as extraordinary as Shirabu. 

And yet, there he was. Actually, truly dating him.

They reached Shirabu’s front door, and Shirabu reached for his keys, but didn’t unlock the door just yet. 

“Before you start worrying,” he said, fiddling with the keys, “I have to say that, despite everything, I had a good time.”

Shirabu glanced at Yahaba and smiled. “Thanks for taking me out today.”

Yahaba cleared his throat, more to get himself out of his state of surprise than anything else. The way Shirabu could read him like a book still baffled him. “My pleasure,” he said, returning Shirabu’s smile.

“But, uh,” Shirabu continued, somewhat hesitantly, “next time, just staying in and watching movies would suffice.”

Yahaba chuckled. “Consider that noted.”

“Honestly, I hadn’t expected things to work out, especially after that horrible contraption of a roller coaster,” Shirabu admitted, his eyes flitting to the ground briefly before focusing on Yahaba again. “But somehow you made it all surprisingly bearable.”

“Am I supposed to be offended?”

“Kindly shut your fuck, Shigeru.” Shirabu rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying that any time spent with you, whether it’s in theme parks or playgrounds, is time well spent.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize ‘bearable’ translated into something as sappy as that,” Yahaba muttered, desperately holding on to his mock-annoyed attitude as he pulled Shirabu closer, resting his hands on the small of Shirabu’s back. Shirabu took that as his cue to raise his hands to Yahaba’s face, his thumbs resting on the edges of Yahaba’s jaw as the tips of his fingers played with the strands of hair in Yahaba’s neck.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Shirabu hummed, before he rose to the tips of his toes and kissed Yahaba on the lips. Yahaba deepened the kiss, causing Shirabu’s hands to travel down his neck and hold on to his shoulders, then slide down Yahaba’s chest and grip the fabric of his hoodie. 

Shirabu was the first to break away, gazing at Yahaba as he caught his breath, biting his bottom lip as if he wanted to continue but didn’t allow himself to do so. He turned away, and keys jingled as he looked for the one that matched the lock of the front door. Once the door was unlocked, he stepped inside, and dumped his keys on the small table nearby. Then he turned and faced Yahaba, who was still outside. 

“Well,” he deadpanned, “I guess it’s time for homework now.”

Yahaba snorted, grinning at him. “Sorry for occupying your precious free time.”

“Trust me, even though I discovered I don’t like theme parks much, this was one of the better ways to spend a boring Sunday. Consequences be damned.”

“Don’t stay up too late,” Yahaba said, his smile softening. He stepped forward, pressing one last kiss on Shirabu’s lips. 

Shirabu tried and failed to suppress his grin. “You know I can’t promise you that.”

Before Yahaba could protest, Shirabu reached out and moved the door until it was just ajar, and he peeked at Yahaba through the crack. “Good night, Shigeru,” he said, and closed the door between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, for those who follow me on tumblr, it might be very obvious I based this chapter on a couple of headcanons I shared once. But I was struggling with the timeflow, and how to progress to the chapters I feel need to be written, and a friend of mine came up with the idea to use the theme park date as a nice filler chapter to help time pass more fluidly. I have to say, it helped a lot, and thank to this I can finally start writing the scenes I've had in mind since the very beginning. 
> 
> I know I used to update quite regularly when this fic was still young, but now life is starting up again and uni is being a pain in the ass, so I can't say for sure when the next update will be. But fear not, I will finish this fic. It's a story too dear to me to just abandon <3
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @shitabukenjirou if you feel like it! (yup, changed my url on tumblr. But don't worry, my old url will redirect you to my new one, so all is well)
> 
> Comments are incredibly much appreciated <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight, here I am again with a new chapter. _Finally._
> 
> Major thanks for sticking with me and my story despite the slow updates and all that, and thank you all so much for the kudos and comments <3 Your commentary never ceases to make my day (or week).
> 
> Now, a lil warning here: this chapter is a mess, and has no structure whatsoever, because I've been writing on and off whenever I had time and energy for the past few weeks, but at this point (read: 0.45 am) I don't feel like having to figure out what to do to fix it. So you just gotta take this as it is. Sorry folks.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this update nonetheless <3

“Kindaichi,” Yahaba called out. He waved his hands, and Kindaichi came running over, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. 

“Loosen up a little,” Yahaba advised. “You’re as stiff as a scarecrow.”

“Do you blame me?” Kindaichi asked, still panting from the practice exercises they were working through together. “The Spring tournament prelims are tomorrow. I need to be at my best.”

“Despite what you hype yourself up to think, Yuutarou,” Yahaba said, “It’s just a game. Nothing to get worried about.”

Kindaichi harshly blew out a breath. “Says the guy doomed to spend the game on the bench.”

Yahaba let that slide for both his and Kindaichi’s sake. 

“I’m more worried about the third-years. I don’t want to mess up for them,” Kindaichi continued. “Now that I think about it, I just don’t want to mess up in general.”

Yahaba sighed. Insecurity and nervous could be one paralyzing combination. “You won’t mess up. And you’re already the best you can be. You built up those skills the past few months, and you can trust them to guide you tomorrow.”

Yahaba slapped Kindaichi on his back, nearly making his pointy-haired friend double over. “You’ll be fine.”

“Awh, look who’s acting all captain-y,” chirped Watari, popping up on the other side of the net to join them. He’d joined their little exercise to do some receiving, and they’d all been top notch so far. “Are we going to continue, or is Kindaichi-kun gonna have to change his diaper?”

“Eh?” Kindaichi blurted in surprise, while Yahaba started laughing so hard he had difficulty keeping himself upright. 

“Jesus, Watari,” Yahaba hacked between laughs, “don’t make him feel bad.”

“Like Future Captain said, it’s just a game, Kindaichi-kun,” Watari said, looking up to Kindaichi. “The only thing you need to do is play. The rest will come. No need to be nervous or scared.”

Kindaichi nodded stiffly, forcing a smile. 

“All right, gather around, everyone!” Oikawa’s voice sounded through the gym. Yahaba gripped Kindaichi’s shoulder in what he hoped was a gesture of reassurance before he made his way to the corner of the gym where his teammates were assembling.

Oikawa spoke again when everyone had taken a spot on the ground in front of the whiteboard he was standing next to. 

“Good work, everyone,” he complimented them. “I’m proud of your willingness to improve and the effort you put into reaching that goal.”

Oikawa looked everyone in the eye as he said that, making sure the message came across. Yahaba had to keep himself from smiling as Oikawa’s eyes lingered on Iwaizumi for a second before he continued.

“Tomorrow we’ll be playing one match. Our opponent will be Dewaichi high school, a team we haven’t played before. Since they made it through the first preliminaries just like we did, I expect the players to be highly skilled. But if we play just like we always do, I don’t think it will be something we can’t handle.”

Oikawa smiled, and Yahaba could feel the morale of the team rise. Accompanying that was a heavy weight on his lungs, making him aware of the fact that he would never even come close to being the captain Oikawa was, that he would never be able to lift the team’s spirits with just a few words and a smile. 

Yahaba pushed the thought away, and focused on his captain as he went through various strategies and plays, despite that he wasn’t likely to be part of any of them.

~~~

“And then he ended his speech like, _‘tomorrow, we will rule the court once again’_ , in this dramatic voice, and the entire team started cheering. It was insane.”

Shirabu chuckled on the other side of the screen. “That sounds like Oikawa Tooru, all right.”

Yahaba hummed, and his eyes drifted to his window. Since the end of October was nearing, the time the sun set was pulled back more and more, dousing the outside world in dark blue way earlier than he was used to. Not to mention the dropping temperatures, which was why he was calling Shirabu via Skype rather than meeting up with him at the playground.

“Something on your mind?” Shirabu asked, and Yahaba’s eyes flitted back to the screen to notice Shirabu looking at him curiously.

“Oh, well,” Yahaba deadpanned, “just the thought that I’ll never be the captain Oikawa-san is. The usual.”

Shirabu frowned. “I thought we’d settled that long ago. But I can’t blame you for feeling insecure.” He focused his gaze on the sports tape around his fingers he was fidgeting with.

“I never brought this up again since you told me,” Yahaba began, deliberately not mentioning the reason for that was because he’d completely forgotten about it. “But weren’t you asked to be captain as well? How’d that end up?”

Shirabu’s expression soured. “I’m still… thinking it over.”

Yahaba raised his eyebrows. “But it’s been months since--”

“I’m aware of that, thank you,” Shirabu interrupted him, his voice sharp. He let his head hang between his shoulders, and brought up his hands, burying his fingers in his hair. He drew in a breath, then sighed deeply. “It’s complicated.”

“Tell me,” Yahaba said, leaning closer to his screen. 

Shirabu didn’t look up as he spoke. “I’m just.. I _know_ I won’t be the captain the team needs me to be. The captain I want myself to be. But every time Ushijima-san walks up to me and asks me if I have an answer for him yet, I can’t bring myself to refuse.”

Shirabu lifted his head and peeked at Yahaba through his fingers. “I don’t want to let him down. I don’t want to let the team down. So instead I avoid it, tell him I need more time, and spend another night comparing the pros and cons of being captain until I push it down and ignore it until he asks me again.”

He chuckled humorlessly, dragging a hand across his face. “I remember talking to one of my teammates about this, a long time ago. I wondered what would make me a good captain, and he said I was collected, that I faced challenges head-on, and that I assessed the situation calmly before making decisions.”

Shirabu chuckled again, shaking his head. “But I remember thinking that didn’t sound like me at all. It was like he described someone else entirely. I still think that’s the case.”

Silence spread between them, and Shirabu settled his gaze somewhere outside the camera’s reach. Yahaba was both surprised Shirabu had admitted to struggling with something with such honesty, as he usually tended to bury it and deal with it on his own, and honoured that Shirabu felt comfortable enough about him now to speak about his problems so freely. He pushed those feelings down and tried to think of something, anything, that would get Shirabu to believe that he was fit to be captain, and that he was more than what he thought he was.

Yahaba hummed softly, breaking through the silence. “I think,” he began carefully, “your teammate described you pretty accurately.”

Shirabu sat up straight, and frowned in confusion. “You do?”

“I do,” Yahaba said. “I’m not going to explain in detail, because you’ll tell me I’m biased because I’m your boyfriend--”

Shirabu snorted, but didn’t deny it.

“But I think you are exactly those things, and much, much more. Your captain has a reason for choosing you. I don’t think you should disregard that because you don’t see the good qualities other people see in you.”

Shirabu sat back in his desk chair, trying and failing to suppress a smile. “You really like sounding deep and smart, don’t you, Shigeru?”

Yahaba spluttered, pulling a mock-offended face. “I’m just trying to help you!”

Shirabu laughed, with humour this time. “I know. But I thought you were the one having captain struggles.”

Yahaba rolled his eyes, knowing well that was an attempt to change the subject. “All right, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll keep myself convinced I’m going to be a decent -- not good, _decent_ \-- captain. If you become captain as well.”

A surprised chuckle escaped Shirabu. “Are you being serious?”

“Deadly,” Yahaba said, grinning.

“Oh boy, Shigeru is deadly serious. I’m gonna flip my shit,” Shirabu mumbled to himself, and Yahaba bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into laughter.

“Is there any merit for me if I agree to this?” Shirabu asked, sounding somewhat sceptical.

 _Uh._ “You get to shake my hand whenever we have a match against each other?” Yahaba tried.

“Because that’s something I haven’t done before,” Shirabu pointed out, his voice dripping sarcasm. “You just want me to be captain so you won’t have to face the responsibilities alone.”

Yahaba sighed. “Fine, you got me.” He leaned his face on the palm of his hand, his elbow resting on his desk, and smiled at Shirabu. “That, and I feel like it would be more fun with you as rival captain.”

Shirabu snorted. “Captain or no, I’ll crush you and your team mercilessly no matter what.”

“So arrogant,” Yahaba mused, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Well, if you think that, you might as well just become captain and see what happens, hmm?”  
Shirabu gave him a glare. “I hate you.”

“I hate you too,” Yahaba said in reply, winking at him. “And who knows, maybe Seijoh will crush your petty ass this time. No need to get ahead of yourself.”

“Bullshit,” Shirabu huffed. “We got a straight win out of you the last time we played you. Don’t try to convince me you’d be able to turn the tables on us so easily.”

Yahaba grimaced, his thoughts flashing back to their miserable loss back then. “I guess we’ll just have to see about that the next couple of days, huh?”

“Yeah,” Shirabu said, giving Yahaba a devious grin. “Please do me a favour and meet us in the finals like you promised to, so I can obliterate you in front of an enormous audience. Oh, I’m _so_ looking forward to seeing the desperation on your pathetic, pretty face as you--”

“Good night, Kenjirou,” Yahaba interrupted him, more loudly than necessary, and he caught a few precious seconds of Shirabu’s laughter before he abruptly ended the Skype call. 

Yahaba took his time readying himself for bed and packing his sports bag for the first of final matches tomorrow. He knew he couldn’t just take Shirabu’s insecurities away, just like Shirabu couldn’t do the same for him, but making him smile was an accomplishment on its own. Yahaba hoped he had been able to make Shirabu think about it again, assess it from a different angle. Maybe even help him change his mind.

Because while it was Shirabu’s own choice whether or not to become captain, Yahaba was convinced it would be an enormous waste of potential if Shirabu refused because he thought he wasn’t capable of leading the team. Yahaba wouldn’t let that happen. Not if he had a chance to prevent it.

When Yahaba returned to his phone, planning to set an alarm for tomorrow, he noticed he’d received a message from Shirabu.

**Shirabu:** Good luck tomorrow

Yahaba smiled, his fingers already punching in a reply.

**Yahaba:** Thanks, you too

**Shirabu:** :)

Yahaba was about to put his phone away, but stuck around when he saw Shirabu was typing again.

**Shirabu:** About the captain thing

**Shirabu:** I might reconsider my decision

**Shirabu:** So uh

**Shirabu:** Thanks for helping me out

**Yahaba:** No problem  <3

**Yahaba:** So the deal is on?

**Shirabu:** …

**Shirabu:** I suppose it is

**Shirabu:** Also

**Shirabu:** Keep the hearts to yourself, it’s gross

**Yahaba:** <3 <3 <3 Face the sappiness, Kenjirou~ <3 <3

**Shirabu:** You’re horrible

**Yahaba:** So are you  <3

**Shirabu:** See you in the finals, asswipe

~~~

As Oikawa had expected, Seijoh’s first match of the final string of prelims, though it was a close call at times, went off without a hitch, and the team returned to their own gym both exhausted and excited for the next day. Not long after Yahaba had stepped off the bus, he received a text from Shirabu, saying they’d beaten their match up easily and that his team would be back on the court tomorrow. Yahaba let Shirabu know of their own victory with a smile on his face.

Their next opponent would be Dateko, a renowned rival that would be difficult to defeat, but Oikawa took the team’s insecurities and threw them out the window before they had a chance to poison their mindset, as a good captain would do. After the short meet-up with the team, Yahaba went home with few worries on his mind. He felt his team had a touch of luck this time around, and he was sure they’d get far.

About as far as the finals.

Maybe even as far as nationals.

Yahaba didn’t want to get his hopes up, but the thought of going to nationals with his team, no matter if he would be playing much or not, was too appealing to just push aside. Fuck, what he would give to stand on the big stage, on the center court in Tokyo, with his teammates, who all worked so incredibly hard to get where they were now, and who still put in unbelievable effort every day to get where they wanted to go.

It would probably be the biggest victory of his life, no matter how many seconds he’d actually spend on the court. It would be an experience that could never be repeated or replaced, and Yahaba almost started looking forward to it.

Almost.

At the beginning of the second day, Yahaba kept wishing Shirabu and his team played in the same gymnasium as they did. He kept wishing he could cheer him on, watch him play in a real match, one where he didn’t have to focus on his own team. He kept wishing they could talk a bit in between matches, watch one of their opponents’ matches together, give each other’s hands one last squeeze before they stepped on the court with the intention to make it theirs.

Instead, he sat with his other teammates as they waited and kept an eye on the match between Karasuno and Wakunan, since one of those teams would become their rivals if they could manage to win their match with Dateko. 

Yahaba could only watch as Karasuno’s captain got hurt when he collided with his teammate, and was replaced with some unknown second-year.

Yahaba couldn’t imagine what the consequences would be if Oikawa were to get injured during a game, what that would do to the team’s morale. While Oikawa wasn’t the one holding the team up, he was a vital part of their gameplay and their often inevitable victory. Not even considering the likeliness that if Oikawa were to be switched out, Yahaba would be the one to replace him.

Just the thought alone made tendrils of tension spread over his chest and squeeze his lungs.

Yahaba tried his best not to think about what he’d do when it was his turn to be captain, when he was the starting setter of the infamous Aoba Johsai, when he watched the poor second-year from Karasuno try to keep the team together, try to finish the match in one piece as his teammates fumbled around, desperately trying to get their point count to rise.

He couldn’t keep himself from wondering if that kid would ever be captain one day. Maybe becoming captain was difficult for everyone. Maybe every second-year that was faced with that option feared not being enough, not being right for their team, and had to pull every single drop of courage together to find out if the struggles and insecurities would be worth it.

Yahaba really hoped it would be worth it.

Sooner than he’d expected -- and, truth be told, sooner than he’d wanted to --, Yahaba and his team left the stands to warm up and stretch in preparation for their match with Dateko. The match itself was almost a blur, and was over before Yahaba knew it. While he didn’t envy Dateko for suffering a straight loss, he did envy their lanky, inexperienced first-year setter, for being able to play matches while Yahaba only got called in as a pinch server from time to time. 

Yahaba tried not to be bitter as they moved to a different court, preparing for the semi-finals, in which they would face Karasuno again, it turned out.

When Karasuno entered the gym, Yahaba noticed Kindaichi stiffen visibly at the sight of their current starting setter, who, apparently, had been a teammate of his in middle school. Yahaba hadn’t caught the specifics of the story, but he knew for a fact that Kindaichi hadn’t appreciated playing under the reign of a prodigy like that.

“So that’s why you were so tense before,” Yahaba attempted to tease, jabbing Kindaichi in the ribs playfully. 

The only reply Kindaichi deemed him worthy of was a muttered “shut up”.

“Calm down, Yuutarou,” Kunimi said, starling both Kindaichi and Yahaba with the casual use of Kindaichi’s first name. “We’ve beaten them before. We’ll do it again. Simple as that.”

Kindaichi took a deep breath, and nodded.

The teams went through their warm-ups, and before Yahaba had time to prepare himself, Aoba Johsai was lined up on one side of the court and Karasuno on the other. The referee’s whistle sounded, signifying the start of the match. While the starters took their positions on the field, Yahaba joined the other benched kids, trying to get himself out of his daze. He had to pay attention, had to be there for his team. 

They had to make it to the finals, no matter what.

As the first set progressed, Yahaba realized that the Karasuno they played this time was way different from the Karasuno they played -- and beat -- just months ago. Their plays were more refined, the players seemed more confident, and it didn’t took long for them to pull ahead. Yahaba started to wring his fingers anxiously as he watched the events unfold, cursing everything around him again and again because his influence from the bench was so limited.

Yahaba had trouble concealing his frustration as Aoba Johsai decided to change tactics and subbed in _Kyoutani, of all people._

No matter how much Oikawa seemed to value him as a player, no matter how many points he was going to drag to Aoba Johsai’s side of the scoreboard, the fact that the guy had ditched training for months and had the opportunity to play in an important match like this despite his terrible attitude and dangerous playing style rubbed Yahaba the wrong way. Not considering the fact that nearly everything the guy did pissed Yahaba off for a reason he didn’t care to explore.

“Yahaba, I can literally see the steam fuming from your ears,” Kunimi remarked as he came to stand beside him. “Calm down.”

“Call me bitter, but it’s not fair that he gets to go out there. He doesn’t give a shit about our team,” Yahaba spat, clenching his fists. 

“Someone’s jealous,” Kunimi said, keeping his eyes on the court as the next rally started.

“And what if I am? Not everyone is as lucky as you,” Yahaba pointed out.

Kunimi opened his mouth to reply, but cut himself off as his attention got pulled to the court. Yahaba followed his gaze just in time to watch Kyoutani approach the net and shove Kindaichi aside like a bulldozer, claiming the ball meant for Kindaichi and slamming it into the ground on the other side of the net.

Yahaba cursed underneath his breath. 

_So this is how this is going to play out._

~~~

Yahaba didn’t consider himself an unnecessarily violent person, yet there he was, grabbing Kyoutani by his t-shirt and slamming him against the back wall of the gym. He could feel the eyes of his teammates burning holes in his back, but Yahaba was out of patience. He channeled all of his anger into a glare he thought even Shirabu would be impressed by. 

“Look, I don’t know what your deal is,” Yahaba seethed, “but if you think you can just go out there and do whatever your impulsive heart desires as if this is just a walk in the park, you got it all wrong.”

“What?” Kyoutani said incredulously.

“Open your eyes, you piece of shit!” Yahaba yelled. “Do you think this is just a game? A practice match? We’re in the middle of the semifinals, and you think you have the right to do what you please without facing the consequences of your mistakes?”

Yahaba stepped closer, and he felt Kyoutani pushing his back against the wall, probably painfully aware Yahaba got him cornered. “This is the last chance for our third-years to go to nationals, so if you can’t pull yourself together and face the responsibilities of being on this team, you’re better off going back to wherever you disappeared off to all those months ago.”

Yahaba let go of Kyoutani’s jersey, and distanced himself from him. “I will kick your ass to the stars and beyond if you ruin this for the team. So once you get switched back in, you better work fucking miracles to win this match.”

Kyoutani appeared to have found his voice again. “That’s some strong words for someone who barely touches the court.”

“It’s exactly because I barely touch the court that your attitude pisses me off,” Yahaba said. “If you get to go out there, you better make sure it was worth it. Call me shallow, but I respect my upperclassmen and teammates who keep putting the effort in to win more than some brat who showed up out of nowhere and decided for himself that he was worthy to play the first chance he got.”

Kyoutani huffed, but didn’t comment. Yahaba turned his back on him and joined the rest of his teammates, hoping he didn’t miss much of the match during his outburst.

“I didn’t want to believe it before, but now I’m positive you’re actually insane,” Watari commented offhandedly.

“Do the world a favour and shut up, Watari,” Yahaba muttered, but it only gained him an amused laugh from the person in question.

The third set dragged on, and, like Yahaba had expected, Kyoutani got switched back in after he’d calmed down. He hadn’t expected, however, that Kyoutani’s attitude would change. He started working with the team, instead of trying to manage things like a completely separate entity. After one certain point, Yahaba felt the mood of his team shift, and he knew that the team had taken Kyoutani in, accepted him as one of theirs.

Yahaba chuckled once, pleasantly surprised, and smiled. “Huh.” _Looks like next year is going to be interesting._

Yahaba’s heart clenched with both nerves and excitement when he got switched in as a pinch-server. _Finally, finally, finally,_ he kept thinking, giving all his teammates a high-five and a smile before making his way to the back line. He spun the ball in his hands, a habit he’d subconsciously taken over from Oikawa, and took a deep breath. 

The whistle sounded, and Yahaba threw the ball in the air. Took a few running steps. Threw his arms back.

And jumped.

The ball hit the palm of his hand perfectly, and at that moment Yahaba felt that all those hours of training, those countless serves, countless successes and mistakes, had been worth it.

That feeling doubled, tripled in intensity when he was able to set for Kyoutani, when Kyoutani smashed the ball down effortlessly, when Aoba Johsai’s point count rose thanks to him. Yahaba found himself wishing Shirabu could have been there to see him as he yelled in victory, and his chest held nothing but pride and euphoria as he walked to the back of the court, being granted the opportunity to serve once more.

Not long after that, Karasuno took back the point they lost, and Yahaba got switched out again. While he was sad his time on the court had been limited to only a few minutes, he wasn’t bitter about going back to the bench. He’d had his ten seconds of fame in this match, and that was enough for now.

The only thing left was to take this set.

But no matter what Aoba Johsai threw at their opponents, Karasuno didn’t budge, and the point gap between them kept hovering around two, maybe three points. Yahaba couldn’t tell if Karasuno was an unbelievably good or unbelievably bad match for them, but as the point counts rose and the stamina and energy of his teammates decreased, Yahaba knew they would have to fight tooth and nail until they could claim the court as theirs.

They reached a deuce, and Yahaba was figuratively on the edge of his seat. He did what he could from where he stood, cheering on the top of his lungs whenever they won a rally, complimenting every single serve and spike. The tension was as high as it had been during their finals match against Shiratorizawa all those months ago, but this time it was different. Yahaba felt like, unlike last time, his teammates clung to his words, because this time they could win.

They _would_ win. There was no other option.

Yahaba winced as Karasuno slammed the ball to the ground once again, reaching their match point.

“Don’t mind, get the next one!” he yelled, and while he sounded confident, the pressure on his chest left him nearly unable to breathe. _Turn it around, please,_ please _turn it around._

The whistle blew. Karasuno served. Neither team gave in, causing the rally to continue endlessly. Yahaba yelled, encouraged and cheered until his voice was at risk of giving out.

Karasuno’s number 10 spiked, and the ball touched Seijoh’s block just slightly before reaching Oikawa’s outstretched arms, bouncing off and spinning backwards until it hit the floor with a loud thud.

The world silenced.

Yahaba let out a shuddering breath.

The whistle sounded, for the very last time.

_No._

Yahaba’s head started spinning, and it didn’t stop spinning as he and his teammates gathered around, beaten and broken, to listen to their coach telling them they played well, that they should head out, that they shouldn’t forget their stretches. 

Yahaba could only stare at the floor as they lined up once again to thank their faithful supporters, and his heart clenched at the applause, the voiceless cheers. The sound was so wrong. It didn’t fit, didn’t belong there.

_We lost._

Yahaba jumped when he felt a hand on his back, and he turned to see Watari trying to get him to move, their teammates already making their way outside. Yahaba let him guide him out of the gym, out of the building. 

He got his bag from somewhere, he didn’t remember how or when, and as the others cooled down and stretched, he found a place where he could be alone. He plopped down on the ground, crossing his legs underneath him, and his fingers found his phone and dialled Shirabu’s number before he was even aware of it.

_We lost._

“Hey,” Shirabu’s voice sounded, bright and clear enough to break through the haze in Yahaba’s mind. Yahaba smiled, but it felt bittersweet.

“Remember how I promised I would meet you in the finals?” Yahaba asked, foregoing the greeting entirely. His voice sounded dead, no matter how much life Yahaba tried to put into it.

“Yeah,” Shirabu replied, almost carefully, dragging out the syllable a little. “Why?”

Yahaba swallowed, but couldn’t get rid of the fire in his throat. “I think--” His voice wobbled. Yahaba cleared his throat, and tried again. “I think-- I can’t fulfill that promise. I’m sorry.”

_We lost._

Tears rolled down his face. The other side of the line was silent.

“We lost,” Yahaba forced out, finally saying the words out loud, and a sob came tumbling out with it. “We lost.” 

Yahaba bit his lip, trying to force back the tears. _No. I can’t break down here._

“Where are you right now?” Shirabu demanded, concern and something Yahaba couldn’t identify lacing through the words.

Yahaba took a deep breaths before he spoke.

“Still at the gymnasium, but we’re going back to Seijoh soon,” Yahaba answered, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

“All right,” Shirabu said. “I have to go now, but I’ll be at Seijoh when you’re done.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Yahaba sighed, and nodded even though Shirabu couldn’t see him. “Okay.” 

“I’ll see you soon,” Shirabu said softly, then hung up before Yahaba could react.

Yahaba put his phone away, and he kept sitting on the ground, head hidden in his hands, fingers pulling on his hair, until he could breathe again.

_We lost._

_We lost._

_I’m sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Um. This gave me Emotions. If it gave you Emotions too, that means I've accomplished things, which is good. I think.
> 
> Again, with how busy uni and everything is, I have no idea when I'll be able to post the next update (expecially since I thought it was a good idea to write more than one fic at the same time *cough*) but I hope to get it up for you as soon as possible.
> 
> Only a few chapters left until I'm putting an end to this, guys. Almost there, whether you like it or not. 
> 
> (I just hope I'll manage to write a good ending lmao)
> 
> Anyway, as always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @shitabukenjirou if you feel like it!
> 
> Comments are incredibly much appreciated (even the simplest things make my day!) ^^


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I really should stop updating at one fricking am.
> 
> I'm back (finally)!! Sorry it took so long, uni is busy and all that jazz. And thank you all so much once again for the kudos and comments, they mean the world to me <3
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this update ^^

For the entirety of the team’s post-match meeting, Shirabu couldn’t help but tap the ground he sat on with his fingers impatiently, willing time to go faster and cursing it internally when it dragged on slowly instead. 

Usually he found meetings like this unnecessary, because they didn’t exactly have many strategies to discuss for the next match, and ever since Shirabu joined Shiratorizawa, the team had faced no difficulties in reaching the finals -- or even the nationals -- whatsoever. But now, the only thing that kept him in that damned gym was the fact that he valued his team. 

The sound of Yahaba’s voice breaking during that cursed phone call just now was impossible to banish from his mind, and the thought that he was stuck here when Yahaba needed him made him sick to his core. 

“Shirabu?”

Shirabu looked up from the spot on the ground he’d been gazing into, and realized the entire team was looking at him.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Ushijima’s stoic gaze was a heavy weight on his chest, and Shirabu’s heart sped up, fearing that he’d bring up the captain thing in front of the entire team. If he did, Shirabu was sure he couldn’t refuse, and then he might as well just sign the contract that sealed Shiratorizawa’s fall as a team.

“You seem distracted,” Ushijima said. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Shirabu assured him in flat voice, repressing the urge to physically break the stares of his teammates. “Please, do carry on.”

Ushijima, luckily, took his word for it, and Shirabu sighed in relief when he stopped being the centre of attention. _He’ll definitely talk to me about the captain thing after this meeting._

Not long after, Ushijima dismissed the team, telling them to get a sufficient amount of rest for tomorrow’s match. Shirabu made his way towards the exit of the gym as quickly as he could without making it obvious he was in a hurry, but before he could leave the building, one particular, lanky first-year blocked his path.

“Hey, Shirabu,” Goshiki said, smiling down at Shirabu, who attempted to shove Goshiki out of his way with the force of glares alone. “Want to set for me? I want to practice my straight a bit more.”

“Didn’t Ushijima-san just tell you to get rest?” Shirabu deadpanned. He tried to move past Goshiki, but whenever he thought he found a way to slip by him, one of Goshiki’s gangly limbs was there, not letting him escape that easily.

“Getting rest won’t gain me the title of ace, duh,” Goshiki told him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well,if you want to self-destruct so badly.. I’ve got places to be, though, so you’re on your own,” Shirabu said, crossing his arms. “Ask Semi-san to tend to your needs, and if he refuses as well -- what I expect him to do, being the mom he is -- I suggest running a few laps around the gym to get rid of the excess energy that’s obviously bothering you.”

“Did you just call me a mom?” Semi called from the other side of the gym.

“Deal with it, benchwarmer,” Shirabu called back. 

“What do you think I am, some kind of dog?” Goshiki asked him. “Running laps won’t help m--”

“Yeah, yeah, they won’t help you with your super straight, blah blah blah,” Shirabu cut him off, patting his fingers against his thighs impatiently. “Go home, Goshiki.”

Shirabu used Goshiki’s bafflement to slip past him, but he barely had the chance to take two steps when a set of arms wrapped around his arms and waist from behind, and lifted him off the ground. 

“Not so fast, Kenjirou-kun,” Tendou said, drawing out the suffix with amusement in his voice. 

“Hey, put me down!” Shirabu ordered, kicking with his legs and hoping to hit Tendou’s shins or kneecaps. 

“Aw, look at you, you’re so small,” Tendou chuckled. “Why the hurry, my skew-fringed friend?”

“I will murder you, Tendou-san,” Shirabu hissed through his teeth, trying and failing to wriggle out of Tendou’s grip. “Now release me, I really need to go.”

“No can do,” Tendou said in a sing-song voice, turning around and carrying Shirabu across the gym. “Wakatoshi wants to talk to you.”

Shirabu’s stomach dropped. _Called it._

“Salty setter delivery!” Tendou announced, setting Shirabu down in front of Ushijima, who was regarding them with a raised eyebrow.

“Thank you for fetching him, Satori. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ushijima said, giving him a gentle smile. 

Tendou gave a wink and a mock salute before he jogged to the exit, and the next moment Shirabu and Ushijima were the only ones left in the building.

Shirabu tried to ignore the pressure gathering in his lungs. “I have a feeling I know what you want to talk about.”

Ushijima took Shirabu in with his quiet gaze. “I have offered you the captain position for next year multiple times throughout the past few months, but I think I should offer it to Kawanishi instead, since it’s obvious you do not want it.”

Shirabu was sure someone stabbed him in his heart, but he could find neither knife nor wound.

“I.. I understand why you think that, I really do,” Shirabu said, pulling at the tape around his fingers. “But.. It’s-- It’s not that-- There’s--”

Shirabu cut himself off, and put a hand to his mouth, trying to find the words he was looking for in the polished hardwood floor of the gym.

“I didn’t-- don’t think I’m capable of being the captain the team needs, but I also didn’t want to let the team down.”

Shirabu glared sourly at the ground. “But since you decided to replace me anyway, I don’t need to worry about that anymore.”

Shirabu peeked up at Ushijima. His steady, analyzing gaze hadn’t changed.

“I did want that-- that position,” he continued, picking at his tape furiously. “It’s an amazing opportunity, and I would’ve taken it without thinking twice about it if I had been convinced it was the right choice for the team.”

“I see,” Ushijima said, and Shirabu repressed the urge to groan. _Care to elaborate a bit more? My nerves are working overtime here._

“So,” Ushijima started, drawing out the silence before he spoke again, “you avoided accepting the offer because you thought you weren’t competent enough to be captain?”

Shirabu awkwardly cleared his throat into his fist. “That about sums it up.”

Ushijima hummed. “It seems I won’t have to replace you, then.”

“Huh?” was the only ineloquent thing Shirabu could manage to say, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “But I just said--”

“You want to be captain, don’t you?” Ushijima asked.

“I do, but--”

“Then what’s stopping you? You’re perfectly capable. That’s why I chose you.”

Shirabu opened his mouth, but no words came out.

_Your captain has a reason for choosing you. I don’t think you should disregard that because you don’t see the good qualities other people see in you._

Shirabu blew out a breath through his nose, wringing his hands anxiously. 

“I will ask Kawanishi instead if you decide to refuse,” Ushijima told him. “But--” he put a hand on Shirabu’s shoulder-- “don’t let your insecurities stand in the way of your potential.”

It was as if something very obvious finally clicked in Shirabu’s mind. Shirabu’s hands stopped wringing, and slowly but surely his fingers curled into fists.

_Fuck it all._

_This is the only way I can get stronger._

“I’ll do it,” Shirabu said, meeting Ushijima’s gaze with a determined look. “I’ll be captain.”

_For the team._

_And for myself._

Ushijima smiled at him, and Shirabu felt the pressure lift from his lungs, allowing him to finally breathe easier. “Good. You’ll make a wonderful captain.”

A forgotten memory breached the surface of Shirabu’s mind, and he found himself chuckling at the ground. “Well, I kind of made a deal with my boyfriend that I would become captain, so it’s not like I can actually refuse.”

Ushijima laughed, removing his hand from Shirabu’s shoulder, and Shirabu suddenly remembered what he had been trying to do before Tendou had dragged him into the conversation he’d been dreading for months.

“Speaking of my boyfriend, I really should be going now,” Shirabu added. “Need anything else?”

Ushijima shook his head. “Go. Make sure to rest well for tomorrow. I’ll be counting on you.”

Shirabu nodded and bowed politely before grabbing his bag and sprinting out of the building as fast as he could.

~~~

“Are you going to be okay, Yahaba?”

Watari’s voice broke through Yahaba’s hazy mind, and Yahaba turned to him, giving him the most sincere smile he could manage. 

“Yeah, don’t worry. I just.. need to process this.”

Watari hummed, his fingers occupied with pulling the zipper of his sports bag open and closed, open and closed, as they made their way towards the school gates. “Kindaichi and Kunimi have already gone off to God knows where, but we could go out for ramen if you want?”

“Thank you, but I’m good,” Yahaba assured him. “Kenj-- Shirabu will come to pick me up, so you go on ahead.”

Watari considered Yahaba’s words for a second, then nodded. “Alright then. See you tomorrow.”

Yahaba lingered at the school gates while Watari went on, waving at him.

“Oh, by the way,” Watari called over his shoulder, “tell Shirabu I want to hang out with him again soon. I miss him.”

Yahaba chuckled. “Will do.”

After another cheerful “bye!” Watari disappeared behind a corner, and Yahaba sighed, leaning back against the school gates and letting his shoulders slump.

The meeting after the match wasn’t much more than the team sitting together in a circle, comforting one another and making one another laugh until coach decided it was time to go home, but Yahaba had liked the change. It felt nice, and real, like a group of lifelong friends reminiscing and recounting their favourite memories gathered around a campfire on a summer night. 

Yahaba tried very hard not to think about the fact that it might have been the last moment together as the current Seijoh volleyball team, before the third-years drifted off, obligated to work on their future, and before the newbies streamed in next spring. When Yahaba would be captain.

The sound of heavy footsteps dragged Yahaba out of his train of thought, and he looked up to see Shirabu running towards him, face flushed, fingers clutching his bag to keep it from falling from his shoulder.

Yahaba just watched with wide eyes as Shirabu came to a stop before him and bent over, planting his hands on his knees and hanging his head, to catch his breath.

“Please tell me you didn’t just run all the way here,” Yahaba deadpanned, but he smiled despite himself.

“As a matter of fact… I did,” Shirabu panted, lifting his head to look at Yahaba. “And you’d better damn appreciate it. Fuck, I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.”

The silence that hung between them felt normal, comfortable as Yahaba waited until Shirabu’s breathing evened. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Shirabu said eventually, straightening his back and pushing his hair away from where it was stuck on his forehead. “Alright, no time to waste. Let’s go.”

Before Yahaba could tell him he had actually been right on time, Shirabu grabbed his hand -- a gesture that had become the most normal thing in the world -- and guided him down the street.

“You know you didn’t _have_ to run all the way here, right?” Yahaba asked, his lips tugging up into a small teasing smile. “I could’ve waited a little longer.”

“Actually,” Shirabu countered, “knowing you, if you had been alone for just a bit longer, you would’ve ended up drowning in your own mind, sooner rather than later.”

Shirabu’s hand squeezed his. “You needed me. So I came as fast as I could.”

Yahaba squeezed Shirabu’s hand back gratefully, and he silently let Shirabu lead him to whatever place he thought they should go. Shirabu didn’t attempt to start any kind of conversation; he probably knew small talk would only be dancing around the subject they both seemed to want to avoid.

And yet, just having Shirabu near him, having him hold his hand, brought back some tranquility in Yahaba’s mind. The thoughts didn’t buzz as much as they used to, and they faded into the background, allowing Yahaba to take a step back into reality.

The weight of today’s events pushed heavily on his shoulders, and Yahaba felt the exhaustion take root in his limbs, Shirabu’s strong grip the only thing that kept him moving forward. 

“Just a little longer,” Shirabu murmured, noticing the way Yahaba’s body started to drag more and more. Yahaba wasn’t even surprised anymore that Shirabu could read him like a book. He had been able to ever since they first met.

Minutes passed, and when they turned another corner, Yahaba recognized the lane that lead to Shirabu’s house.

“Your place?” Yahaba asked, his voice too low to really convey his surprise.

Shirabu shot him a look that was almost apologetic. “I just thought.. maybe a change of scenery would help.” A low chuckle. “Also, I feel bad for not having you sleep over here when I’ve been at yours countless times.”

Yahaba hummed, and moved closer, bumping Shirabu’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They reached the front door, and Shirabu fished his keys out of his sports bag, his grip on Yahaba’s hand never faltering as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. He pulled Yahaba inside, and after both of them had left their shoes at the entrance, he led him upstairs. 

“I’ll ready the bathroom for you so you can take a shower,” Shirabu said, taking Yahaba’s bag from him and dumping it next to his wardrobe before letting his own slide from his shoulder and tumble to the ground. “It’ll make you feel better.”

All Yahaba could do was give him a grateful smile, and he waited until Shirabu had finished his preparations before heading into the bathroom and locking the door with a satisfying _click_.

Immediately he felt his shoulders sag and his lungs deflate, and it took everything he had to strip down and step into the shower, awkwardly fiddling with the knobs until the water hit his back at just the right temperature. His muscles relaxed under the warmth of the water, and Yahaba sighed audibly at how _good_ that felt.

After just standing in the stream for five solid minutes, doing nothing other than absorb the feeling of the water hitting his back and trickling down his arms, Yahaba realized he also had other things to do. He quickly grabbed a washcloth and started scrubbing himself clean, ridding himself of the sweat and misery that coated his skin.

Yahaba exited the shower feeling like himself again.

When he was halfway through pulling on the clean clothes Shirabu had laid out for him, he noticed a soft melody drifting his way. The notes were timid, and stopped as quickly as they had come, as though they were searching for the right sound. And Yahaba knew exactly what the source was.

Yahaba quickly finished pulling on his t-shirt, and he hurried towards Shirabu’s bedroom, hoping his mind hadn’t been playing tricks on him. He gently pushed open the door and peeked inside.

Shirabu stood facing the window, the remnants of the sunset trying their best to light up the dim room and bathing his face in a soft glow. He had his violin raised to his chin, the hand holding the bow just inches away from striking another note. He turned once he heard Yahaba, and he lowered his arms, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“I was just.. trying some things,” Shirabu said. “It’s been a while since I last touched this thing.”

Yahaba slid inside the room, and took a seat on Shirabu’s messily made bed, regarding Shirabu carefully.

“No, please, go on,” he urged gently. “I want to listen to your music.”

Shirabu glanced at Yahaba before frowning at the ground, conflict apparent in his eyes as he twiddled the bow between his fingers. 

“You don’t have to, of course, if you don’t want to,” Yahaba hurried to add. He’d rather punch himself in the face than accidentally force someone to do something they’re not comfortable doing.

Shirabu shook his head. “That’s not it.”

Yahaba stayed silent, waiting for Shirabu to continue.

“It’s just--” Shirabu looked up at Yahaba, and his gaze was hesitant. “Playing the violin is one of the only things I have that allows me to.. to express myself. It’s what I do when I’m feeling too much, and I pour everything I have into it until I feel like myself again. It’s.. not something I do around other people.”

Before the wave of disappointment could really settle in Yahaba’s chest, Shirabu took a deep breath and stood a little taller. “But I’m willing to make an exception this time.”

Yahaba’s eyes widened. “You are?”

Shirabu smiled at him before turning to the shelf attached to the wall above his desk, putting his bow down before reaching up and grabbing what seemed like a small square basket filled with cd’s.

“You already know me inside out,” Shirabu clarified with a small shrug. “I don’t have much to lose.”

He set the basket down on his desk, and sifted through the cd’s with his free hand until he found the one he was looking for. 

“The piece I’m about to play is originally a piano piece,” Shirabu explained, as he slid the cd he selected in the cd player placed the edge of his desk. “So there’s a piano part to accompany it to make up for the lost depth.”

Yahaba watched Shirabu intently as he pressed the play button and walked back to where he stood before, facing Yahaba. Shirabu sucked in a breath, and blew it out slowly as he lifted the violin to his chin, closing his eyes as he brought the bow to the strings.

The moment Shirabu struck the first note, Yahaba was completely pulled in.

The melody was simple, and started off small, but got stronger quickly as Shirabu gained his confidence, and soon it seemed like he had forgotten where he was and what he was doing, completely caught up in the music he was creating. There was a crease between his eyebrows that deepened and faded along with the music, and Yahaba couldn’t keep his eyes off Shirabu’s facial expression, both focused and completely serene.

And there was so much _feeling_.

Yahaba could feel everything Shirabu was, everything he chose to reveal to the world in that moment, right in the core of his chest. It was both painful and exhilarating.

The music wound around him like a rope, and it refused to let him go as he listened. It was gentle and soft, and yet it seemed to have an air of power that became more noticeable as the piece proceeded. It was almost if it represented a part of Shirabu he always used to hide -- something timid and vulnerable, yet strong and sweet -- until he found someone whom he trusted enough to show it to.

How lucky Yahaba was to be that person.

The melody rose higher and higher, strengthened in force, and Yahaba watched as Shirabu dragged the bow back and forth over the strings with growing intensity. Then it reached its climax, and after a small pause, Shirabu delivered the last few notes, drawing out the ending tune until the room was once again filled with silence.

It was over way too soon.

Shirabu opened his eyes, and they widened in alarm as they focused on Yahaba.

“You’re-- Why are you crying?”

Only when Yahaba blinked, the movement sending a fresh batch of tears down his cheeks, did he realize that he had, in fact, been crying. Yahaba took a shuddering breath, and felt his chest constrict.

“I don’t know. I just.. I felt so much. I felt everything. I felt _you_.”

Yahaba sniffed, and then chuckled, smiling at Shirabu. “I loved it. I loved every single part of it.”

Shirabu almost dropped his violin. “You-- You did?” he forced out, putting the violin back in its case before he could damage it.

“I did,” Yahaba assured him, standing up and grabbing Shirabu’s hands. He brought them to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to those strong, talented fingers. “Just like I love every single part of you.”

Yahaba was certain that at that moment, Shirabu stopped breathing. He just stared at Yahaba, eyes impossibly wide, until he pressed his lips together and buried his face in Yahaba’s shoulder, pulling his fingers out of Yahaba’s grip and wrapping them around Yahaba’s waist instead, holding him so tightly Yahaba almost had trouble breathing.

“Kenj--”

“ _Not a word._ ” The slight tremor in his voice said more than enough.

Yahaba could only raise his arms and hug Shirabu back, one of his hands running gently through Shirabu’s hair. Shirabu melted in his grip, and drew in a hitched breath. Yahaba pressed a kiss on the top of Shirabu’s head, and chuckled lowly. What a mess they were.

By the time Shirabu pulled back, the room was almost completely dark. He lifted his hand and roughly rubbed his eyes dry with his knuckles. Then he gave Yahaba a somewhat wobbly smile.

“Alright, let’s order some pizza.”

~~~

After dinner, Shirabu let Yahaba pick some movies to watch, and they curled up on the big couch in the living room, Yahaba leaning against Shirabu’s chest so Shirabu could play with Yahaba’s hair as they watched.

Shirabu had tried his best to distract Yahaba from their loss, tried to keep him occupied as well as he could so he wouldn’t worry, wouldn’t overthink things, as he was inclined to do. But in the end, he had only been pushing away the inevitable. 

When the credits of the movie stopped rolling over the screen, and the room was silent save from their breathing, Yahaba shifted in Shirabu’s arms, pressing his face in Shirabu’s chest. Shirabu just comforted him the only way he knew how, stroking his hair soothingly and holding him tightly as Yahaba’s shoulders started to shake, as if somehow Shirabu could keep him from falling apart.

He never wanted to hear Yahaba cry again. Not if he could prevent it.

“You know,” Shirabu started softly, when Yahaba was silent again, “in a way I’m glad you lost today.”

Yahaba stilled in his arms. Then he lifted his head to frown at Shirabu. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shirabu’s gaze drifted to the window, where the moonlight was streaming into the living room. “While the idea of facing you in the finals was very appealing, I don’t know what I would have done if I had to watch you lose because of me.”

Yahaba watched him intently, and he sat up, placing his legs so that he was straddling Shirabu’s hips. Then he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Shirabu’s lips. Shirabu closed his eyes. 

“I wouldn’t mind losing to you,” Yahaba breathed, his voice a little hoarse from the tears. “While I would’ve been devastated for my team, like I am now, I also would’ve been glad you made it to Nationals. You deserve to go there.”

The moonlight illuminated the kindness in Yahaba’s eyes, and Shirabu traced his fingers along Yahaba’s cheekbone. Yahaba smiled underneath the touch. 

“Aoba Johsai deserved to go to Nationals,” Shirabu said. “More than we do.”

Yahaba’s smile turned bittersweet, and he kissed Shirabu again, a little longer this time.

“Do me a favour,” he whispered, his face hovering so close their noses almost touched. “Crush Karasuno for me tomorrow. For Seijoh.”

Shirabu grinned, and pressed his lips against Yahaba’s. 

“With pleasure.”

Not long after that, exhaustion finally took over for the both of them, and they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, not bothering to go upstairs and sleep in an actual bed when a couch worked just fine.

Shirabu opened his eyes the next morning to the alarm of his phone, ringing and buzzing in the pocket of his sweatpants. He quickly swiped it away, and leaned up on his elbows, checking if the noisy thing hadn’t accidentally woken up Yahaba. To his relief, he was still sleeping soundly beside him, his hair messy and ruffled, one of his hands still strewn across Shirabu’s waist.

Shirabu carefully got to his feet, and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall when he stretched his arms above him, working the sleep out of his limbs. He still had some time before he had to leave.

He snuck upstairs to change his clothes and gather his stuff, and when he entered the living room again, Yahaba was still asleep. Shirabu smiled fondly at the sight, and he kneeled down next to the couch, pressing a kiss on Yahaba’s forehead.

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, his fingers toying with a lock of Yahaba’s hair for a moment before putting it back in place. “I love you.”

When Yahaba didn’t stir at his words, Shirabu deemed it time to leave. He made his way to the front door, paused to shrug on his jacket and pull on his shoes, and then stepped outside, quietly closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so emo man. So many feelings.
> 
> So the song Shirabu played was Chopin's Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2, and it should sound something like this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOlF3tJLTUs. I lost count of how many times I listened to it when writing that scene, it's such a beautiful piece.
> 
> Also, I have a question for you guys. I know I don't reply to comments on here, mainly because I feel like the comment thread would become very lengthy and messy if I did. It's also why I always leave my tumblr in the notes so you can look me up and talk to me there, because believe it or not, I really love talking to people about what I'm writing. But if you guys want me to, I'd be more than happy to still take the time to reply to comments, if it feels like that way your words would be appreciated more (just saying, I already appreciate them a whole lot, and sometimes I feel bad for not replying to comments because it seems like I want to keep my distance when I actually love talking to you and reading what you think!) So, uh. Just let me know if you'd like me to reply to your comments, and if you do then I'll make sure to put more effort into replying next time!
> 
> Funny how I was pretty confident about this chapter until I started editing it hAH (which is also poorly done, by the way). But anyway.
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @shitabukenjirou if you feel like it!
> 
> Comments are very (very very veeeeeeeeryyyy) much appreciated <3
> 
> See you at the next update! :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT I'M ACTUALLY NOT DEAD
> 
> Gosh, it's been over two months... I'm so sorry for taking so long. Long story short, life was being a bitch. Also, other writing projects (can you believe I'm brewing another multichapter fic? I must be insane)
> 
> I must have such nerve to come stumble in after such a long break to offer you this poorly written chapter. But it's all I have to offer for now, so... I'll give you guys something better next time, I promise.
> 
> I can't promise _when_ next time will be, though.
> 
> Anyway, thank you guys so much once again for the kudos and comments! And aaaaah we've reached a thousand hits!! Boy this makes me so happy, you guys are the best <33
> 
> Sorry for the long wait, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Yahaba woke up the rays of the sun staining the back of his eyelids red. It took him a while to realize he was curled up on the couch of Shirabu’s bright living room, and he sat up straight, trying to work the knots out of his back. He blinked a few times, dragged a hand over his face to work the sleep out of his mind, and looked around. He was the only one in the living room. In fact, the whole house seemed deserted, as no single sound emerged from any of the rooms.

“Kenjirou?” Yahaba called out, his voice still rough from his slumber. No one replied. 

Yahaba got up and wandered around, popping his head in the kitchen, walking upstairs to Shirabu’s bedroom to check for any signs of life. But as he’d suspected, the house was completely empty, except for him. 

Confusion made countless worries bubble up in Yahaba’s mind as he padded back down the stairs, but before he could actually focus on any of them, something dawned on him, causing him to still mid-step.

_The finals._

Yahaba whirled and ran back upstairs, and fished his phone out of his abandoned bag next to Shirabu’s wardrobe. Judging by the time, he still had about an hour left until the match began.

Just as he slung his bag over his shoulder, he realized that he was still wearing Shirabu’s clothes. _Oh well. No time to change now._

Yahaba glanced at the violin in the corner of Shirabu’s room, and smiled when the song Shirabu played yesterday entered his mind. His chest warmed at the memory as he descended the stairs once again, not looking back before he flew out the door. 

He wasted no time before he punched a number in his phone, and listened to the anxiety-inducing dialling tone as he rushed through the streets. Taking the bus wasn’t an option: he wouldn’t make it in time. Not even considering the fact that he didn’t have any money on him. 

After half a minute of waiting, fate seemed to favour him.

“Shigeru?” the voice of his mother rang through the speaker. “You never call me. Is something wrong?”

“Mom,” Yahaba panted. “Are you still at home?”

“Uh, yes, but--”

“I have no time to waste,” Yahaba urged. “Pick me up from school. I need you to drive me somewhere.”

~~~

As soon as the car came to a stop, Yahaba jumped out of the vehicle, throwing a quick “thanks, mom!” over his shoulder before he ran towards the entrance of the gymnasium. He weaved through the groups of people, making his way towards the stands. He nearly stumbled as he took the stairs two at a time, and he slammed into the bars that separated the stands from the grounds below, harshly coming to a stop. 

The teams were both just finishing up the official warm-ups. He spotted Shirabu speaking to a teammate of his, seeming to just have been released from a pep talk from his coach. 

Yahaba took a deep breath. _It’s now or never._

“Kenjirou!” Yahaba yelled. He noticed Shirabu jump at the use of his name, and watched as he turned to the stands. Shirabu’s eyes widened the moment he saw Yahaba. 

“Wait there!” Yahaba ordered him, and without waiting for a response, he turned on his heels and ran back downstairs. It took him two tries to find the right entrance, and once he did, he made his way to Shirabu, who was looking at him in complete disbelief. 

Yahaba came to a stop in front of Shirabu, and he bent over, placing his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath.

“You idiot,” Shirabu hissed, his eyes flitting back and forth between Yahaba and his team, who were watching their encounter with expressions ranging from amusement to confusion. “What are you doing? The game starts in a few minutes.”

“You really think,” Yahaba panted, straightening his back to look Shirabu in the eye, “I could let you start this without wishing you luck?”

“ _That’s_ what you came here for?” Shirabu frowned, but Yahaba noticed the traces of amusement among the disbelief.

“That,” Yahaba said, “and I want to watch you play. I want to watch you _win_.”

Shirabu was silent for a second before he chuckled and shook his head. “You’re absolutely unbelievable.” 

“Shirabu, get ready to line up!” someone called. Yahaba didn’t bother looking up to see who the voice belonged to. He just watched Shirabu, watched him standing tall, displaying his pride for his team, his confidence in his teammates.

“Wipe that dumb smile off your face and go back to the tribunes, airhead. We’re starting,” Shirabu said, already turning around. Yahaba reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him back. Before Shirabu could react, Yahaba stepped forward and kissed him bluntly on the lips. 

Shirabu’s fingers buried themselves in the fabric of Yahaba’s shirt -- _Shirabu’s shirt_ , actually, if Yahaba really thought about it --, more to keep himself steady than anything else, and a surprised yelp got stuck in his throat before it disappeared into the white noise around them. Yahaba vaguely heard Shirabu’s teammates yelp and shout and laugh in reaction to their intimate display, but he didn’t care. He went a step further and cupped Shirabu’s cheek with his hand, ghosting his thumb over the splash of freckles that had already started to fade, now that autumn was close to coming to an end.

Shirabu pulled back first, and his face was nothing but surprise and something else he couldn’t quite read.

“Shigeru--”

“Good luck.”

Shirabu stared at him, dumbfounded, until he found it in himself to roll his eyes and huff. “You could’ve just said that without the kiss. God, you’re so unbelievably cheesy. Do I have to remind you that we’re in public?”

The blush spreading over Shirabu’s cheeks made Yahaba smile even brighter.

“Does it look like I care?”

Shirabu opened his mouth to reply, when Shiratorizawa’s red-haired middle blocker -- Tendou, Yahaba believed he was called -- walked up to them and slapped his hands down on Shirabu’s shoulders from behind, making him jump and let out a startled noise Yahaba thought sounded adorable.

“Sorry to disturb this… whatever you have going on, Boyfriend-kun,” Tendou said with a friendly smile that Yahaba wasn’t sure was actually friendly. “But can I borrow Kenjirou here for a moment? We have a match to win.”

Yahaba barely had time to respond before Tendou pulled Shirabu towards the court, lifting one of his hands from Shirabu’s shoulders in a cheerful wave.

“I didn’t know your Boyfriend-kun was actually the spicy pinch-server from Aoba Johsai. You never tell us anything anymore, Kenjirou-kun~,” Yahaba caught Tendou chide, to which Shirabu responded with an exasperated “kindly shut the fuck up, Tendou-san”.

Yahaba snickered, and made his way back upstairs. 

It had only been a few months ago since Seijoh stood in the finals, but Yahaba had almost forgotten how intense Shiratorizawa’s cheering squad was: it was the only thing he could hear in the entire gymnasium, easily overpowering the sorry attempts of Karasuno’s spectators to encourage their team. And now it was even louder, since he stood right in front of it, fingers clenched around the balustrade, as close to the court as he could possibly be. 

The starting line-up was announced, and Yahaba could feel the pride swell in his chest as he watched Shirabu jog onto the court, expression neutral but eyes bright, and he cheered along with the crowd around him. 

Yahaba chuckled to himself when he realized that he was attending a finals match his team hadn’t been able to make, cheering for the team that had beaten them countless times before. While the thought stung as he remembered yesterday’s loss, robbing him and his team of a chance to go to Nationals once again, it was also completely and utterly ridiculous. Yahaba was sure that if someone had told him months ago that this was going to happen, he would’ve punched them in the face for even thinking about the chance of him willingly cheering for _Shiratorizawa_ , of all teams.

Then again, he also wouldn’t have believed that by now he would be dating someone, and that that someone would be their rival team’s salty starting setter, no less. Life was a strange string of coincidences and miracles.

The starting whistle sounded, and in the brief silence that followed, Yahaba caught Shirabu’s gaze.

Shirabu smiled.

Yahaba gave him his biggest shit-eating grin in return.

_Crush them for me._

As if Shirabu read his thoughts, he nodded slightly, his smile growing, and turned away again as the first ball of the match was served. Karasuno, obviously unused to reaching nationals, flailed around and lost a few points to simple mistakes until a teammate yelled at them from the sidelines, asking them what exactly they were nervous for. Yahaba found himself smiling. He probably would have done the same if Seijoh was in that situation.

When it was Shiratorizawa’s turn to attack, Yahaba found himself leaning forward over the balustrade to try to catch Shirabu’s set up as best as he could. And there it was, the simple, high toss he’d watched him do many times by now, and yet it was still nothing short of mesmerizing to him. It was the thing that he noticed about Shirabu first, before he even knew his name, and it seemed a part of Shirabu as much as his glare or his stubbornness was.

Ushijima hit the toss, and before Karasuno knew it, another point was handed to their opponents.

The two teams raced through the first set, Karasuno doing their best to keep hold of their composure as they attempted to get used to Shiratorizawa’s overwhelming power. In the end, Karasuno gave up the first set to Shiratorizawa, and while Yahaba wasn’t surprised in the least, he’d noticed how Karasuno had been pressuring their opponents despite the impressive point gap. 

A tendril of anxiety tugged at Yahaba’s stomach, but he refused to acknowledge it. Karasuno might have won against Seijoh yesterday, but if just one thing had gone differently, Seijoh could have won instead. They were about equally matched. And even through all these years, Seijoh hadn’t beaten Shiratorizawa once. There was no way Karasuno would take the win this time.

Yahaba locked eyes with Shirabu as the teams switched sides, and he cheerfully waved at him. Shirabu kept his face straight as he raised his hand and threw a peace sign and a wink at him in return, but snorted out a laugh not much later at his own uncharacteristic response. Yahaba was halfway through his burst of laughter before he slapped his hand across his mouth to stop the noise. He was conscious of multiple gazes bouncing off his back, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

_You’re such a treasure. God, I love you._

The second set started, and from the very start Yahaba could feel the rise in tension between the two teams. The battle was truly starting now, and the point count rose gradually, neither team pulling more than one or two points ahead. Karasuno’s blocking became a force to be reckoned with, and pulled off consistent one-touches that made Yahaba want to groan and pull out his hair. 

Yahaba was under the impression that Shiratorizawa dealt with the pressure rather well, though. That is, until Shirabu appeared out of the shadows and performed a setter dump seemingly out of nowhere. The brief silence after the ball touched the ground conveyed his message clearly: _I’m here too, and I’m a force to be reckoned with._

The crowd cheered, and Yahaba loudly cheered with them, but something akin to worry tugged at his heart. It wasn’t unusual for Shirabu to remind the opponents of the tricks he has up his sleeves, but something about the timing of it seemed wrong. It felt rushed, somehow. 

_Was he panicking?_

_Was the pressure getting to him after all?_

The battle continued, and Yahaba watched with an open mouth, fingers clenched around the balustrade, as the point count climbed into a deuce that never seemed to end. Set points were traded back and forth, and it was Karasuno’s turn when it happened.

Shirabu set up the ball once again, but something in the movement was hurried, almost careless, as though he was running out of patience. Yahaba barely had time to register that the set lacked its usual smoothness and height before Ushijima slammed the ball down--

Right into Karasuno’s block.

The ball hit Shiratorizawa’s side of the course with an incredible force, and both teams watched it bounce away in disbelief. 

_Ushijima… was blocked?_

Chaos erupted in the gymnasium, and Yahaba kept a close eye on Shirabu as the teams switched courts once again. It seemed his composure had been fraying because of the pressure after all, and it was bound to cause fraying in his abilities as well. And even worse… 

Karasuno’s lanky blond blocker seemed to have been waiting for that. From the way he closed in on Ushijima so effortlessly when he was forced into a corner, it was almost as if he’d _predicted_ it. 

It made Yahaba’s blood boil. _Just how much has this team changed in the past few months?_

Shirabu was called aside by his coach, and Yahaba felt something sting in his chest. He prayed Shirabu wouldn’t beat himself up about his-- well, one could barely consider it a mistake, but Yahaba could bet all of his money on that his coach would consider it one. And that Shirabu himself would consider it one, as much as that wasn’t the case.

The coach spoke a few words Yahaba couldn’t hear, and Shirabu bowed respectfully, walking back to where his teammates gathered, wearing an expression Yahaba could only describe as pained. Tendou remarked something as Shirabu walked by, and Shirabu said something in return, lifting his taped fingers to his forehead. 

Yahaba was in the middle of wishing he could hear what Shirabu was saying when Shirabu slapped his own cheeks with a force that made Yahaba physically cringe. 

And yet, it also brought a smile to his lips. 

Because he could tell Shirabu knew that Karasuno played him, used the loss of his composure to their advantage. And he wasn’t going to be phased by his slip-up so easily.

He was going to pull up his guard and fight even harder, he was going to refrain from making any more mistakes, he was going to focus on winning this match and leave any thoughts and regrets for later, because that was who Shirabu _was_.

And that only made Yahaba admire him more.

The third set was over in a whim, pulled away from Karasuno’s greedy hands without a second thought, and Yahaba was certain the smoothness with which Shiratorizawa had claimed this set was because of Shirabu’s strength and determination. He’d kept playing like he usually would, didn’t let the loss of the previous set stain the dynamic of his team.

Yahaba chuckled to himself. Shirabu was awfully stubborn, and he was going to do things his way no matter what.

The farther the match progressed, the more things seemed to speed up, and Yahaba was practically screaming out his lungs when it was Shiratorizawa’s match point in the fourth set, hoping they could cut the match short before Karasuno got the chance to make it even. Unfortunately, the fourth set fell into Karasuno’s hands, and Yahaba had to resist the urge to walk down and pummel every single member of that cursed team until they were nothing but mush.

So it all came down to the fifth and last set.

This is not how Yahaba had imagined this match to go.

Worry made itself at home in Yahaba’s chest, and the more Yahaba tried to push it away, the more it grew. 

He needed Shiratorizawa to win, or it would all have been for naught.

The fifth set kicked off, and Yahaba tried his best not to chew off his bottom lip as he watched, tension growing in his stomach. The point count grew and grew, and neither team gave up the fight even though they started to unravel bit by bit.

Every rally was a battle by itself, and Yahaba cheered as loudly as he could every time Shiratorizawa won the fight.

It was almost as if he was on the court himself, and he thought back to the day before, thought back to the last time they stood in the finals, how he shouted and cheered and held up the team to the best of his abilities. If only he could go down and hold Shiratorizawa up, despite the many times they’d beaten him and his team.

Suddenly, it was Karasuno’s match point, and Yahaba’s heart was beating in his throat, his hands were shaking and sweating, and his mind was _praying_ for a chance to turn things around.

Shiratorizawa kept attacking confidently, and Karasuno kept pulling together the scraps of their strength to pull off miracles Yahaba didn’t think were possible.

And then.

One synchronized attack.

One hit against the ball, letting it fly and spin through the air.

One touch from Shiratorizawa’s libero.

One ball they couldn’t save.

One,

Two,

Three seconds of silence.

Yahaba’s stomach sank, and he lost the ability to breathe.

The gymnasium erupted. 

Yahaba could only watch as Shiratorizawa tried to pull itself together, tried to process that their journey was abruptly cut off. They trudged over to the coach, and listened to the coach’s final judgement before they scattered to cool down and do their stretches before the award ceremony would take place. Their silence was deafening against Karasuno’s celebratory cheers.

It didn’t seem right to see them so broken.

Once the flow of Shiratorizawa students exiting the stands had mostly passed, Yahaba turned and made his way downstairs, hoping he could catch Shirabu somewhere. He waited close to the entrance of the gymnasium, anxiously fidgeting with his fingers.

_What does one do at moments like this?_

_How can I do what Shirabu did for me?_

“Shigeru,” a low voice said, and Yahaba looked up from the spot on the floor he’d been staring into. Shirabu stood in front of him, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, taking him in with a gaze Yahaba could only describe as _empty_.

Yahaba hesitantly stepped forward and reached for Shirabu’s hands, pulling them out of their hiding place and rubbing circles into Shirabu’s knuckles through the fraying sports tape. He felt rather than saw Shirabu deflate a little.

“You played really well today,” Yahaba said softly, keeping his eyes on their connected hands. His voice sounded hoarse from all the cheering and shouting he’d done. “I loved watching you. That setter dump you did was my favourite.”

Shirabu made a noncommittal sound, and Yahaba caught his eyes. _But we lost_ , they seemed to say, before Shirabu lowered them again. Yahaba’s chest tightened.

Shirabu was pulling back behind his walls.

Or rather, he was pushing Yahaba out.

Yahaba stepped closer, trading one of Shirabu’s hands for his cheek, and kissed him tenderly on the lips in an attempt to drag him out of whatever void he was descending into. Shirabu kissed back, though barely, and soon Yahaba pulled away again.

_What can I do?_

_How can I be there for you?_

Shirabu drew in a breath. “The award ceremony starts in a bit.”

Yahaba hummed, trailing his fingers along Shirabu’s cheekbone as he stepped back. The air around him seemed to cool.

Shirabu put his hands back in his pockets. “We’re having a meeting at Shiratorizawa when this is over. After that… I’d rather be alone, so you don’t need to wait up.”

The air froze.

Shirabu met his gaze once more before he turned around and made his way back inside the gymnasium. 

“Kenjirou,” Yahaba called out, and Shirabu halted, glancing over his shoulder and regarding him with an expression that didn’t betray a thing about what he was thinking.

“Are you okay?” Yahaba asked. He knew it was an impossible question, and he knew the answer to it, but he felt the need to ask it anyway. He needed Shirabu to tell him something. _Anything._

Shirabu looked at him quietly, gaze steady, before turning around again and entering the gymnasium without another word. 

Yahaba’s heartbeat hitched.

_This is bad._

Before his thoughts could fling themselves into overdrive, a familiar voice called his name.

“Yahaba-chan?”

Yahaba whirled, and spotted Oikawa and Iwaizumi walking towards him, wearing casual clothing. Their fingers were intertwined, and something about the sight made Yahaba’s chest constrict. Oikawa pushed his glasses -- _glasses?_ \-- up the bridge of his nose and smiled at him.

“I didn’t know you came to watch the game,” Yahaba said, frowning. “I thought you guys had better things to do.”

“Ah well, you know,” Oikawa flapped a hand dismissively. “Just curious about how my former kouhai would be performing on the finals stage, that’s all.”

“You just told me you wanted both of them to lose,” Iwaizumi pointed out.

“ _Iwa-chan_ , that’s not important. The important thing is, why are _you_ here?” Oikawa said, pointing to Yahaba.

Yahaba gave him a flat look. “To watch the game, duh.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Then why were you talking to Shiratorizawa’s setter just now?”

Yahaba’s heart skipped a beat. _Oh boy, here it comes._

“Because he’s my boyfriend.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows flew up, while Oikawa’s eye twitched. “He’s your what now?”

Yahaba crossed his arms over his chest. From behind him, he could hear the start of the award ceremony, but he didn’t feel like witnessing that. Not when the team he rooted for had lost against all expectations.

“You heard me.”

Oikawa regarded him silently, and the silence caused chills to run up Yahaba’s spine.

“Oh, the complete and utter betrayal,” Oikawa said quietly.

“Tooru, don’t,” Iwaizumi warned.

“How could you?” Oikawa went on, widening his eyes at Yahaba. “Dating the archenemy’s setter like it’s nothi-- _ow!_ Iwa-chan, you brute.” Oikawa rubbed his side with a pout.

“I told you not to do that.”

“I was just joking!”

Iwaizumi eyed Yahaba apologetically. “Sorry, you know how much of an idiot he is.”

“Hey!” Oikawa cut in.

Yahaba chuckled. “It’s fine, I expected him to react like that. It’s not like I didn’t live through this rivalry painfest for two years.”

“You guys never appreciate my sense of humor,” Oikawa huffed, crossing his arms.

“That’s because you don’t have one,” Iwaizumi threw back, earning him forceful shoulder bump from Oikawa. He laughed, and soon Oikawa traded his pout for a smile.

“Anyway,” Oikawa continued. “We’re happy for you, Yahaba-chan. And let it be known that if he breaks your heart then I’ll--”

“I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself, Oikawa-san,” Yahaba said with a smirk, and Iwaizumi laughed again.

Oikawa only took a second to recover. “Ah,” he said dramatically, pushing up his glasses to wipe a non-existing tear from his eye, “they grow up so fast, don’t they, Iwa-chan?”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“Can’t I be proud of my precious kouhai for one second?”

Their banter was interrupted by loud applause coming from inside the gymnasium. Yahaba felt bitter anger rise in his throat.

_I’ll beat them next time._

“Well,” Oikawa said, drawing Yahaba’s attention back to him. “We’ll be going now. Enjoy the rest of your day, Yahaba-chan.”

Yahaba nodded. “You too.”

With one last smile from both of them, Oikawa and Iwaizumi turned and headed towards the exit, Oikawa chatting about something Yahaba couldn’t catch. Applause rose again from within the gymnasium, and Yahaba turned away from the sound, following in his senpais’ footsteps and leaving the building. He sat down on the set of stairs leading down to the parking lot, and focused on the feeling of the chilly air on his exposed skin. 

They lost.

Against all odds.

It wasn’t even his team, and yet Yahaba felt his heart crumble in his chest. He let his head hang between his shoulders, his mind replaying the last rally over and over.

No matter how he twisted or turned it, the result was the same.

Shiratorizawa lost.

And Shirabu was retreating to some place within himself that Yahaba couldn’t reach, no matter how much Yahaba wanted to help him.

He heard footsteps behind him, and Yahaba glanced over his shoulder to watch Shiratorizawa exit the building. His eyes searched for Shirabu and found him trailing at the end of the group. He didn’t meet Yahaba’s gaze.

Yahaba kept his eyes on him as he descended the stairs, as he made his way to Shiratorizawa’s bus and took a seat inside.

Yahaba watched until the bus left the parking lot and only lowered his gaze when the bus disappeared from his sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aahhh, yes. Defeat.
> 
> Whelp, I don't have much to add here. Other than _please bear with me since it'll probably take quite a while before I post the next chapter and I promise I won't abandon this before it's finished please stick with me._
> 
> I'm gonna sleep now. It's 4 am because time doesn't exist and neither does sleep. 
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @shitabukenjirou!
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated <333


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yes I'm back again with another update! It didn't take me two months this time!!
> 
> Don't expect that more often though, I was just lucky I had both inspiration and time on my hands. 
> 
> Thank you guys again for reading and commenting!! I'm glad the chapter was worth the wait, and I'm glad you guys are still sticking with me <333
> 
> I don't have much to add, so.. go forth and read, my darlings.

_Push it down._

_Erase it._

_Shut it out._

_Don’t think about anything irrelevant._

Something touched his shoulder, and Shirabu jumped, shying away reflexively. He pulled his headphones from his ears and looked up to find Semi hovering close to him, hand outstretched. 

“You coming?” Semi asked. 

One look around told him that the bus was nearly empty. 

Shirabu nodded, unable to do anything else, and slowly stood up. He’d been spacing out so much he hadn’t even noticed they’d already returned to Shiratorizawa.

_How lame._

He pushed past Semi, ignoring his attempts to say more, and exited the bus, regarding the familiar scenery with a bitter taste in his mouth.

He didn’t want to be here.

_Push it down._

Heaving in a breath, he followed the others, keeping his eyes on the ground, pulling up his headphones once again to drown out anything else.

_Erase it._

Shirabu entered the gym, and the atmosphere felt wrong. He dumped his bag on one of the benches, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his jacket and turning off his music reluctantly. He had no new messages, and while it disappointed him just a bit, he also wasn’t surprised. He must have worried Yahaba shitless with the way he acted after the match. 

Yahaba always worried.

Shirabu didn’t _need_ people to worry. Especially not during moments like this. Maybe it was better for the both of them if he kept Yahaba at an arm’s length for a while. So he couldn’t do any more damage.

And yet.

Shirabu buried his phone in his bag, and wandered over to where the rest of the team was starting to gather, plopping down on the ground somewhere at the edge of the group. A force he’d been trying to ignore constricted his chest, and his mind was a hollow chaos, getting louder and louder now that he didn’t have something to drown it out. 

_Shut it out._

The meeting started, and Shirabu picked on the fraying tape around his fingers. He could feel the skin throbbing slightly underneath. He tried to focus on the voice that pierced the silence of the gymnasium, but he couldn’t catch more than a few words before the meaning of them started to unravel.

One thing, however, he understood with perfect clarity.

The next time training took place, the third-years would enter this gym for the very last time.

Then, the responsibility of leading the team would be placed onto his shoulders.

Shirabu’s thoughts flashed back to the match, to that horrendous ending of the second set.

He bit his bottom lip until the pain was all he noticed.

_Don’t think about anything irrelevant._

_Push it down._

_Push. It. Down._

Shirabu dragged in a few deep breaths, but even that didn’t lift the heavy weights on his lungs. 

After a few more words from Ushijima, the team was dismissed, and Shirabu stood up, his tired body protesting against every single one of his movements. The gym was slowly emptying, but Shirabu couldn’t bring himself to move. The buzzing in his mind grew with alarming intensity.

_Erase it._

He walked over to where Goshiki was toying with his phone, his mouth set in a frustrated sneer as his thumbs flew across the screen.

“Goshiki,” Shirabu forced out. The word burned a hole in his throat, and depleted his energy reserves more than it should have.

Goshiki froze, nearly dropping his phone. He turned off the screen and dumped the thing onto his jacket. 

“I know, I know, you don’t have to rub it in,” Goshiki snapped, frowning at the ground. “I know I shouldn’t have kept blabbing on about becoming the ace. I shouldn’t have claimed I would surpass Ushijima-san that easily. I still have a lot to improve and--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Shirabu interrupted him.

“Well, you kept saying I shouldn’t talk big without being able to back it up!” Goshiki retorted, looking up at Shirabu. There were tears rimming his eyes. “I don’t need your ‘ _I told you so_ ’s. I understand now, okay? So leave me alone.”

_Oh._

Shirabu sighed deeply, lifting his hand to rub at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about. But I’m not angry or anything, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Goshiki blinked. “Huh?”

Shirabu dropped his hand, curling and flexing his fingers. He grimaced at how stiff they felt. 

“I have to admit, hearing you say that over and over again was definitely annoying. But I can’t blame you for being naive,” Shirabu continued. “Nor can I berate you for being as determined and ambitious as you are.”

Goshiki stared at him blankly, then narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Why are you complimenting me?”

Shirabu found it in himself to snort at that. “I’m not complimenting you. I’m just stating the obvious. Everyone here is aware of your enormous potential, but right now that’s all it is. Potential. You need to work your ass off to turn that potential into skills, and that’s not going to be easy, just like it’s not easy to realize that you’re not as far as you thought you were.”

Shirabu turned away, walking over to his bag and digging his phone out of his bag. Still no messages. Something twisted in his gut.

“But if you ask me, you’re already halfway there.”

Shirabu dropped his phone into his bag, and faced Goshiki again. “Don’t.. don’t let this match get to you. As much as it sucks to lose, it was your wake-up call, and you should use that to become stronger.”

A voice in his mind cackled at the words. Well, he didn’t have to believe it himself, as long as Goshiki believed it.

Goshiki blew out a breath, puffing up his cheeks in the process, and put his hands on his hips. “I didn’t think you were able to say things other than curse words.”

“Shut your fuck or I’m taking it all back.”

“Okay, okay! Jeez! Can’t anyone make a joke these days?” Goshiki threw up his hands defensively. “But, if you’re not angry at me, then what do you need me for?”

The weights fell back on his shoulders. Shirabu had barely even noticed they’d been gone. 

“Ah, well..” His fingers drifted back to his tape. “I was wondering if you wanted to hit some of my sets.”

Goshiki’s eyebrows shot up, then fell back into a frown. “ _You’re_ asking _me_ to train with you? Who are you and what have you done with Shirabu Kenj-- _ow_ , fricking--!”

Goshiki groaned and lifted his left leg to rub his shin, which Shirabu had kicked to stop him from finishing that sentence without a single drop of remorse.

“Can you be serious for just one second?” Shirabu asked in a flat voice. 

Goshiki rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I would, but.. Haven’t we played enough today? Won’t we push ourselves too far if we practice more? It’s what you always tell me not to do, so..”

Shirabu’s chest froze over, and he looked at a spot on the wall somewhere behind Goshiki. “It’s just to get our minds off things. It won’t take too long.”

Goshiki looked at him for a long moment before he shrugged. “Sounds okay to me, I guess. It’s better than going home and just.. thinking about today, you know?”

_That’s one thing we agree on, then._

“Help me set up the net,” Shirabu said, and Goshiki nodded, jogging off to the storage room. 

As Shirabu turned to fish a bottle of water out of his bag, he spotted Semi leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, regarding him with a look he knew all too well.

Shirabu caught his gaze and held it, raising an eyebrow.

_I dare you to say something about this._

After a few seconds, Semi sighed and turned away, leaving the gym. 

Shirabu took a few sips of water before joining Goshiki in building the court.

They played for well over an hour, and Shirabu kept indulging Goshiki and his neverending enthusiasm, kept setting to him and giving him compliments, even when his fingers started to ache and his legs started to tremble. He lost himself into the rhythm of setting, something that was as natural to him as breathing, and only managed to break out of his trance when Goshiki called his name.

“You know, Shirabu,” Goshiki said, dragging his wrist over his damp forehead, “it’s getting late, so… maybe we should call it quits for today.”

Something tightened in Shirabu’s lungs. The clouds he’d forced into his mind started to drift away. 

_Shut it out._

Shirabu hummed. “You go ahead. I’ll clean up.”

“Are you sure?” Goshiki’s eyes darted down to Shirabu’s hands before moving back up again.

Shirabu pulled in a breath and nodded. “I’m sure.”

Goshiki ran a hand through his hair, making the strands of his already messy bowlcut stick up even more. “Okay then.”

He walked over to the bench where he’d dropped his things, and shrugged on his jacket before he threw his bag over his shoulder. 

“See you next time, then,” Goshiki said.

“Hmm.”

Goshiki disappeared through the doorway, and Shirabu took in the silence of the empty gym. Then he started gathering the volleyballs they’d scattered across the floor while they played, putting them in the basket. When he had them all, he pulled the cart to the back line of the court, grabbed a ball, and spun it in his hands before facing the net. 

Shirabu exhaled long and deep. 

_Erase it._

Shirabu threw the ball in the air and slammed it as hard as he could. The ball hit the edge of the net before tumbling to the ground. 

He picked up another. Slammed it. His fingers stung with every hit.

_Push it down._

_Push it down._

Shirabu started breathing heavily. 

_We lost._

Shirabu’s breath caught in his throat.

_It was the last chance for the third years to go to nationals._

_But we lost._

Shirabu hit another ball, biting his bottom lip forcefully.

_We should’ve won._

_If only--_

Shirabu kept hitting, trying to force the thoughts out of his mind, trying to use the growing pain in his hand to cancel it out. His rasping breath burned his lungs.

_Why do you care so much?_

Shirabu gritted his teeth, and let out a yell as he slammed the last ball over the net and into the ground. For a while, he watched the ball bounce away, listened to his laboured breathing, the only sound in the gym. 

Then, he gave in to the weights on his shoulders, and sank to the ground, hiding his face into his hands as he let his head hang between his shoulders, tears stinging in his eyes.

Thoroughly defeated.

_Why didn’t we win?_

_What did we do wrong?_

_What did I do wrong?_

A sob escaped his lips, and Shirabu pushed one of his hands to his mouth in an attempt to mute the sound, tears rolling down his cheeks. Shirabu drew in a shaky, stuttering breath. His hands started trembling, and soon it spread to his entire body. He lost the grip on his thoughts, and countless voices shouted over one another until their messages were nearly indiscernible.

_I’m just a second-year. It’s not over yet. I still have a chance. Then why--_

_Why do I care so much? When did I start caring this much about volleyball at all? The only thing I even remotely care about is--_

“Kenjirou?”

Shirabu froze, his eyes flying open wide. His mind went completely silent. He couldn’t bring himself to turn towards the owner of that voice.

_Push it down._

_Erase it._

_Don’t let anyone see you break._

After a long moment, Shirabu dropped his hands in his lap and glanced over his shoulder to the entrance at the gym. Yahaba just watched him, one hand leaning on the doorway and panting slightly, wearing an expression Shirabu could only classify as _heartbroken_. 

Neither of them spoke. Shirabu sniffed and blinked, sending fresh tears down his face. 

_How pathetic._

“I’m sorry,” Shirabu said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He turned his head away and stared at his fingers. “I didn’t manage to avenge your loss.”

Shirabu bit his lip as new tears started forming in the corners of his eyes. He heard soft footsteps, and a second later Yahaba dropped down onto the ground in front of him. His shock was noticeable when his gaze fell onto Shirabu’s trembling hands, red and swollen, maybe even bruised and bloody underneath the remains of the tape. Yahaba carefully picked them up and lifted them to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“I should’ve known,” Yahaba sighed, keeping his eyes down. “I could tell something was off when I saw you after the match, but I thought maybe you needed space, to.. you know. But the moment you got onto that bus… I should’ve known I had to save you from yourself.”

Yahaba looked up, and gave him a small -- albeit pained -- smile as he wiped away the tears Shirabu had tried so hard to suppress. Then he released Shirabu’s hands, only to reach out and pull Shirabu against his chest. Shirabu buried his face into Yahaba’s shoulder, his hands sliding to Yahaba’s back and grabbing hold of the fabric of Yahaba’s coat.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, squeezing his eyes closed. His voice shook, and he hated the feeling of it. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, this is just how I’m used to--”

“Shhh,” Yahaba shushed him, stroking Shirabu’s hair gently. “You don’t need to explain. I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Shirabu whispered again, his body shaking along with his sobs. “I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” _For losing, for being a burden, for not being good enough._

_For everything._

Shirabu cried and cried and cried until every single drop of emotion he felt was pushed out of him, until Yahaba’s warmth forced out all the frost in his body. It was the most he’d felt in a long while, and when he finally caught his breath, still borrowing Yahaba’s strength, he felt completely and utterly drained. His hands hurt, his body hurt, everything hurt and he was _so tired_.

Shirabu inhaled deeply, breath hitching, and sighed, melting into Yahaba's touch. _I wouldn’t mind falling asleep right here, right now._

Yahaba’s hand slid down his neck, and circled on his back a few times before coming to a stop at his waist.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Yahaba asked quietly. 

Shirabu pulled away, sitting up straight and wiping his eyes with his left hand. “There's no place I'd rather be.”

Yahaba smiled, and he got to his feet, helping Shirabu up with him. “Let’s go.”

Shirabu glanced at the court he used, volleyballs littering the floor. “I should clean up.”

“I’ll do it,” Yahaba decided, walking towards the net. “You should probably give your hands a rest.”

Shirabu looked down on the sorry state of his fingers and decided he had no reason to argue. He watched Yahaba dump the balls into the basket and move away the net, fumbling with the remains of his tape absentmindedly. When Yahaba was done, he moved over to where Shirabu had dumped his things and slung Shirabu’s bag over his shoulder, grabbing Shirabu’s jacket and handing it over to him. 

“I can carry my own stuff, you know,” Shirabu pointed out dryly, taking his jacket and shrugging it on. “I’m not made of glass.”

“Oh, I know that,” Yahaba replied. “I know that very well. But I’m either carrying your bag or carrying you, so it’s your choice.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass, Shigeru.”

Yahaba laughed, and the sound tugged the corners of Shirabu’s lips upward. Yahaba reached for Shirabu’s hand, but, realizing that probably wasn’t the best idea, changed his mind and wrapped his arm around Shirabu’s waist instead. He sighed, and he sounded almost relieved.

“Let’s go home, Kenjirou.”

~~~

By the time Yahaba jammed his keys into his front door, Shirabu seemed to be nearly sleeping on his feet. Yahaba teasingly poked him in his side, causing him to jump away with an offended yelp. 

“What was that for?”

“Just making sure you were still awake,” Yahaba said airily, pushing open the door and stepping inside. “I should make you some coffee, or else I’m afraid you’re going to fall over.”

“Caffeine actually sounds really good right now,” Shirabu admitted, following him in and closing the door behind him. He knelt down to untie his shoes, and his eyebrow twitched as his trembling fingers pulled at the laces. 

“Shigeru, is that you?” another voice sounded. A few seconds later, his mother appeared from the kitchen, holding a spatula. 

“Oh hey, Kenjirou-kun! Welcome!” she smiled, and Shirabu smiled back politely from where he was prying his sneakers off his feet. “Are you staying over again tonight?”

“Do you mind if I do?”

“Not at all! You know we always have a place for you.”

Shirabu straightened, and inclined his head. “Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble-- what happened to your hands?”

Shirabu’s gaze flitted down to his fingers, as if for a moment he’d forgotten about the state they were in. His cheeks reddened slightly. 

“Mom, it’s not important,” Yahaba tried.

“Let me see those,” his mother insisted, walking over to Shirabu, pushing her spatula into Yahaba’s hands on the way. She carefully took Shirabu’s hands in hers, turning them over, inspecting the damage. 

“Shigeru, get me some ice for this,” his mother ordered. “And man the stove while you’re at it, unless you want overcooked vegetables for dinner.”

Shirabu gave him a somewhat alarmed expression as his mother pulled him into the living room and sat him down on the couch. Yahaba shrugged apologetically, then turned to the kitchen. He checked on the food his mother was cooking, and lowered the heat of the stove before turning to the fridge to gather some ice. He improvised until he had something he deemed worthy of calling an ice package, and carried it over to the living room.

His mother was just finishing up her inspection when Yahaba gave her the ice package. 

“There’s no need to get it checked out, but you should take things easy the next couple of days to prevent further injury,” she was saying. She gently put Yahaba’s creation onto Shirabu’s fingers, finally stripped from their tape. “This should reduce the swelling.”

“Thank you,” Shirabu said quietly. 

“Ah, don’t be so bummed out,” his mother said, affectionately patting Shirabu’s cheek. “It happens. So, the finals, huh. That’s quite the achievement.”

Shirabu chuckled, though the sound lacked its usual humor. “Well, my team isn’t called the strongest in the prefecture for nothing. At least.. until now.”

His mother hummed in understanding, then turned to Yahaba. “Shigeru, go set the table for me, will you? Dinner should be ready right about now.”

“Aye aye,” Yahaba said dryly. He walked back to the kitchen and checked on the food once more before turning off the stove. Then he grabbed some plates and cutlery and headed for the living room once more. 

“So, have you ever played a match against Shigeru’s team before?” his mother asked Shirabu right when Yahaba entered.

“Once,” Shirabu responded, his gaze falling on his covered hands. “It must have been almost half a year ago by now.”

“Did Shigeru play in that match?”

“He was called in as a pinch server a couple of times.”

Yahaba needed to hold back a bitter snort as his mother’s face fell blank. She probably didn’t even know what a pinch server was.

“That’s all?” his mother asked. There was something like disappointment in her voice, and Yahaba’s face soured. He could physically _feel_ the disapproval hanging in the air. 

_Shouldn’t you spend that time on homework instead, Shigeru? Is it really worth the effort if you barely play, Shigeru? Shouldn’t you be working on your future, Shigeru?_

He’d heard it all, and he was _sick_ of it.

Some part of him was convinced that even if his mom knew about his loss from the day before, she wouldn’t even care, harsh as it sounded.

“Well..” Shirabu started, catching Yahaba’s gaze before he looked down again. “He might not have stepped on the court for more than a few minutes, and might not have actually played more than a few rallies, but in my opinion he was one of the most valuable members of the team at that moment.”

Yahaba halted, his breath catching in his throat.

“I still remember it so vividly,” Shirabu said, his voice soft and sweet. “His team was on the brink of losing, but he kept them from falling apart by encouraging them constantly. They lost, in the end, but his faith in his teammates never faltered.”

Yahaba felt his mother’s eyes on him as he absentmindedly finished off setting the table, his attention completely captured by Shirabu’s words.

“You could tell how passionate Shigeru was -- _is_ \-- by the way he did everything he could to support his team from the sidelines. And when he did have the chance to play, his pride shone brighter than anyone else’s. It’s the first thing I noticed about him, and I still admire him greatly for his determination, perseverance, and love for what he does.”

Shirabu looked his mother in the eye, and Yahaba noticed she was visibly uncomfortable underneath the intensity of his gaze. 

“He’s going to be captain next year, and I know for sure that he’ll be amazing. I can’t wait to face him a match, and watch him play to his full potential. I assure you that if you attend that match next year and watch him do what he’s most passionate about, you’ll know why he stayed on that team, and know that’s where he belongs.”

The silence that followed was stifling. 

Yahaba bit his lip to keep from smiling, blinking away the sudden tears furiously.

_God, this boy._

His mother shifted, then cleared her throat, seeming to have recovered. “Alright. Uh. Now, who’s ready for dinner?”

She smiled at the both of them, then stood up and went to fetch the pans of food. Shirabu got to his feet as well, setting the ice package on the coffee table in front of him and flexing his fingers carefully. 

Yahaba walked over to him and wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging him from behind. He nuzzled the exposed skin of Shirabu’s neck before pressing a kiss on his cheek. 

“Thank you.”

Shirabu leaned back a little, placing his chilled hands on top of Yahaba’s. “It’s nothing. I was just stating facts.” He sighed, and lowered his voice. “It’s the least I could do.”

“What do you mean?”

Before Shirabu could respond, Yahaba’s mother returned and demanded they sit down at the dinner table and eat before the food got cold. Yahaba reluctantly let go of Shirabu and grabbed his wrist, tugging him to the table. While they ate, Shirabu seemed to have trouble keeping himself awake, much to Yahaba’s amusement (and concern). Multiple times Yahaba poked him in his side or his cheek to keep him from accidentally dipping his face into his food, which resulted in curses and vegetables being thrown in his direction. 

Yahaba was sure he’d never seen his mother facepalm as often as she did in that short amount of time.

After they were finished, Shirabu trudged upstairs to take a shower while Yahaba helped his mother clean up the mess they made and do the dishes. The entire time, Yahaba had the feeling that his mother wanted to say something -- probably about the things Shirabu had told her before dinner -- but seemed to think better of it, and Yahaba could feel the presence of those unspoken words, hanging in the air between them as they cleaned the kitchen.

At least the feeling of discomfort and dread made him do the dishes faster.

When Yahaba returned to his bedroom, he found Shirabu spread out on his bed, wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants belonging to Yahaba. He lay on his stomach, right cheek pressed into the pillow, his arms folded loosely around his head.

“Are you asleep?” Yahaba asked quietly, padding over to his nightstand to turn on the nightlight before hopping back and closing the door behind him, preventing the room from being doused in complete darkness.

“I wish,” came Shirabu’s muffled voice. He rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. “I feel like I could sleep for a million years, but at the same time I’m wide awake.”

Yahaba hummed. “Scoot over.”

Shirabu moved towards the wall by simply flopping back on his stomach, and Yahaba got into bed beside him, pulling the covers up over the both of them. Once tucked in, Yahaba leaned up on one elbow and used his free hand to rub Shirabu’s back. Slowly but surely, he felt Shirabu relax underneath his touch. 

“There’s no need to worry right now,” Yahaba said softly. “Whatever you’re thinking about, those things will come later. For now it’s important to get some rest.”

“Hmm.” 

“And to give those hands of yours a break. Jeez, I told you to take good care of them, like, ages ago.”

Shirabu lifted his head to give him a tired glare. “Are you actually scolding me right now?”

“I can’t help myself. I just care a whole damn lot about you, you know,” Yahaba replied with a smile.

Shirabu blinked, then lowered his head again. “I know.”

Yahaba’s hand travelled up and down Shirabu’s back until Shirabu’s breathing started to even out. When it reached the edge of his t-shirt again, Yahaba went over it and slid his fingers underneath the fabric, tracing patterns over Shirabu’s skin with the tips of his nails. 

Despite nearly drifting off to sleep, Shirabu noticed the change immediately, tensing up underneath Yahaba’s fingers.

“What are you--”

He cut himself off just as quickly as he started, and after another second he melted back into the bed, sighing deeply. Yahaba never ceased his movements.

“That… feels really nice,” Shirabu mumbled, and Yahaba laughed. 

“Just go to sleep, silly. Don’t let my efforts in calming you go to waste.”

“Working on it.”

After a while, Yahaba removed his fingers and tugged on Shirabu’s shoulder until he rolled over, so he could pull him against his chest, wrapping his arms securely around his waist. The knot of worry in his stomach finally started unravelling now that Shirabu was here with him, in his arms, save and sound. 

“Good night,” he whispered. 

Shirabu didn’t react, so Yahaba assumed he had already nodded off.

But when the cocoon of warmth around him was starting to make him drowsy, Shirabu broke through the silence. 

“Shigeru.”

Yahaba sighed. “Are you still not sleeping? Do I need to knock you out?”

“Shut _up_.”

“Okay, okay,” Yahaba chuckled. “What is it?”

There was a brief pause before Shirabu spoke. “Thank you,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “For-- for saving me from myself.”

Yahaba tightened his hold on Shirabu. “I’m here for you. Always.”

A few seconds ticked by before the silence was disturbed again.

“Shigeru?”

Yahaba suppressed a yawn. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

It was like fireworks popped in his chest, the way pure joy spread through Yahaba’s chest and travelled through his veins at lightning speed. He smiled, and shifted slightly to press his lips against the soft patch of skin right underneath Shirabu’s ear.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .........EMOTIONS
> 
> I'll receive any complaints in the form of angry mobs and vials of your tears thanks
> 
> No but seriously though. This hurt to write. So much pain and emotions. Gosh, what am I doing to myself. And you guys.
> 
> I spent a lot of time thinking about and editing the scenes but I feel like there's still something missing, ugh. Oh well, it's 0.45 am on a weekday so I'm just gonna throw this out there and go to sleep because I have classes tomorrow and mediocre content is all I can manage to produce these days.
> 
> ........ next chapter will probably be the last one and I'm not ready to end this story hhnnnn
> 
> Anyway, as always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @shitabukenjirou (in case you want to do more screaming and/or complaining)
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated <333
> 
> Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on tumblr @chuuchuuyaa!
> 
> comments/feedback is very much appreciated :)


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